


A Prayer Before Birth

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Bullying, Caning, Child Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last three years, it’s caution. He doesn’t break curfew, doesn’t track mud into the house, doesn’t drop things or play loud music or speak out of turn. Doesn’t do anything, in other words, that might attract unwanted attention towards himself."</p><p>Arthur's being abused at home, and he can't let Merlin find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lust, Caution

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, I've been kicking around this story idea for a while and now I'm giving it a go. In this story, Arthur and Merlin are 17. Arthur's slightly different from canon, quieter and less confident due to his home life, while Merlin is a bit more garrulous to make up for it. So you might find them slightly OOC but hopefully it fits the story.
> 
> Warnings for ritualistic physical and emotional child abuse - please proceed carefully.

He’s normally so careful.

If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last three years, it’s caution. He doesn’t break curfew, doesn’t track mud into the house, doesn’t drop things or play loud music or speak out of turn. Doesn’t do anything, in other words, that might attract unwanted attention towards himself.

But today. Today was different. Today was The Day.

Because Merlin had kissed him. 

Had thrown down his console mid-game and turned to Arthur, blue eyes darkening with intent before muttering ‘Oh, fuck it’ and smashing their lips together. And for three long seconds Arthur had done absolutely nothing, frozen in shock while fireworks exploded behind his eyes; long enough that Merlin began to pull back, a look of panic crossing his face, before Arthur had surged forward and returned the kiss as though his life depended on it.

Then it had been a haze of kissing and talking and snuggling up together on Merlin’s bed as Arthur rested his head on his friend’s chest and listened to him wax lyrical about how long he’d wanted to do that.

“But I didn’t know how you felt and Gwaine was all ‘Arthur likes you’ and I was all ‘how do you know?’ because I kept thinking what if I went for it and you were like ‘back, demon’ and then our friendship got ruined and I’d be so embarrassed I’d have to move to Mexico and I don’t even speak Spanish so I’d probably starve to death and-”

And Arthur had laughed softly because one of the things he likes best about Merlin is he can talk on and on for hours with precious little encouragement. Arthur doesn’t say much himself but Merlin’s one of the few people to make him feel like that’s okay. He sometimes worries he bores people, leaving them to pick up the conversation when he can’t quite think of the right words to say but Merlin always chats away with him happily, as though Arthur’s the most scintillating raconteur since Oscar Wilde.

Arthur used to talk a lot more, he thinks. But then he realised people didn’t always like it when he spoke, especially because he always said the wrong things. And that got him in trouble.

“I do like you,” he says shyly when Merlin finally takes a breath and his friend laughs and presses a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head.

“I should bloody hope so.”

They lie in silence a while, then he hears Merlin take a breath, like he’s building himself up to say something.

“Do you want to- you know, sort of… go out? But not like _go out_ go out exactly but you know, see each other or do things or whatever, I don’t know…”

Arthur smiles into Merlin’s t-shirt.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“That depends. Are you saying yes?”

Merlin sounds flippant but Arthur can feel the way his muscles have tightened slightly. He nuzzles into Merlin’s chest.

“Yes.”

He can feel rather than see Merlin’s massive grin and his own smile widens.

Then a sudden fear grips him.

“Would we tell people?” He asks carefully.

“Eh? Oh, I dunno. Should we? I suppose we should. Gwaine’ll be bloody insufferable though…”

“It’s just… people might,” Arthur tries to find a plausible excuse for his reticence. “People at school will talk about it all the time and it might ruin the… the specialness.”

“‘Specialness?’ Is that even remotely a word?”

Arthur elbows Merlin as best he can from his semi-supine position. 

“Alright, easy Carol Vorderman, I know what you mean. I wouldn’t mind keeping this just between us either. Something only we know about”

Arthur exhales in relief.

He doesn’t really care what people from school think and he’d secretly like nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops that Merlin is his boyfriend but…

If his father found out.

It’s a thought that makes him actually shiver and Merlin grips him tighter.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah, no, just… that sounds nice.”

Merlin relaxes and immediately starts burbling on about first dates and how he hates ten pin bowling but he loves laser tag and Arthur tunes him out, content just to lie there and feel the buzz of Merlin’s voice vibrate through his chest.

He must have been more content than he realised because the next thing he knows Merlin is gently shaking him awake.

“I fell asleep?” he says slowly and Merlin giggles.

“Yes, genius. On me, I might add. You’re lucky I’m such a tolerant boyfriend.”

Arthur sits up and stretches. Then he turns and kisses Merlin on a whim because he’s allowed to do that now and the thought makes him so happy he feels giddy.

Then.

“Wait, what time is it?”

“Er, it’s like eight,” Merlin says, looking at the clock.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

“I have to go,” Arthur says, scrabbling for his shoes.

“What, now? Have dinner, Mum left me some stew in the fridge, there’s enough for two.”

“Can’t,” Arthur says tightly as he reaches for his jacket because he’s completely panicking and he can’t let Merlin see. 

“Why not?” Merlin says plaintively.

“I have to get home, promised my dad,” Arthur says as he turns towards the door.

“Okay, well, text me later?”

Merlin sounds so mournful that Arthur just has to run back to the bed to press a kiss to his lips, even if it costs him a precious few seconds.

“I will,” he promises and then he’s out of Merlin’s room and through his front door, setting off running down the street. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The porch light is on when he finally makes it home, and there goes his last hope that Uther was working late or out at a client dinner or anything else at all that meant he wasn’t sat here waiting for Arthur to get in so he could…

Arthur forces himself to catch his breath, over-exerted from the sprint home. It won’t matter to his father that he tried to make it back as quickly as possible. The circumstances around you breaking the rules are irrelevant, all that matters is you broke the rule. 

He has trouble fishing his keys out of his bag because his hands are shaking so badly, and then he can’t fit them into the lock properly and he has to remind himself to calm down because getting hysterical only makes it worse.

He takes several deep breaths in and out. Then he fits the key in and unlocks the door.

The house is ominously quiet and while Arthur isn’t actually foolish enough to think he can escape to his bedroom, he takes three hopeful steps towards the staircase before the voice rings out.

“Arthur.”

He freezes in place then slowly turns towards his father’s office. For a moment he thinks he won’t be able to walk forward. He closes his eyes, lets himself remember what happened earlier, Merlin’s soft lips on his own, tries to take strength from it. There’s a reason he’s late today and it’s worth whatever Uther can dish out.

The door to the office opens soundlessly and he slips inside. His father is sitting at his desk, still in his work suit. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if he had just sat there since he got home, waiting for him.

“Why are you late?”

Uther’s tone is flat and quiet. Arthur never knows which he’s more scared of; the times when his father’s drunk and shouting, calling him every name under the sun or the times like this when he’s perfectly calm and controlled. The rages are scary because Arthur can’t tell how far Uther will go but he thinks he prefers it to the coldness. When his father’s drunk he can at least blame his actions on the alcohol. When he’s sober and in control Arthur can’t hide from himself how much his father genuinely seems to hate him.

“I was at a friend’s and I fell asleep.” Arthur says, trying not to sound afraid. His father doesn’t like that.

“Dinner was laid out at half past seven and you were not here.” Uther’s voice is still emotionless.

“I apologise, father.”

“You know the rules.”

Uther has risen from his chair and moved round the desk to stand in front of Arthur.

“Yes father, I-"

“Shut up. Do you not know the rules?”

Arthur is torn momentarily, between answering the question and shutting up like he was told.

_Crack._

The force of the slap knocks Arthur’s head back to smack against the door behind him and his eyesight blurs for a second.

“Answer me.”

“I know the rules, I just fell asleep-“

_Crack._

It’s a stinging blow to the ear this time that rings through his head like a car alarm.

Uther won’t hit his face again because it’s too risky when Arthur has school tomorrow. He’ll stick to parts of the body that aren’t visible to prying eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur babbles, “I didn’t mean to break the rules, it was a mistake-“

_Crack._

The third blow, to the back of his head, is so hard that Arthur loses his footing and ends up on the floor at his father’s feet. Uther looks down at him coldly.

“I don’t ask for much, Arthur,” he says, and his voice is smooth as marble. “I put a roof over your head, feed you, clothe you, provide you with everything you need, and the only thing I ask in return is that you obey a few simple rules. Why is it that you cannot do even this for me?”

Sometimes this part hurts worse than the blows, when Uther makes him feel like a failure, an ingrate.

“I’ll try harder,” Arthur says, trying with all his might to blink back the tears pricking at his eyes because his father hates any sign of weakness. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Uther regards him for a few seconds and Arthur tenses, waiting for another hit. But Uther merely shakes his head, as though his son isn’t even worth the trouble.

“Cellar, now,” he says and his tone is a dismissal.

Arthur scrambles to his feet before his father can change his mind. He follows Uther out of the door and across the hall, where his father unlocks the cellar door. He makes to go inside then Uther’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, forcing him round to meet his father’s eyes. 

“I will not be so lenient next time, Arthur,” he says softly and Arthur swallows hard, nodding. Then Uther shoves him through the door and he has the presence of mind to fumble for the light switch and turn it on before the door slams shut behind him. He hears the key turn in the lock and then his father walks away.

Arthur lets out a breath before walking down the stairs. The cellar is mainly used for storing wine although there a few odd bits and pieces of bric a brac lying around on the hard stone floor. In the corner are two threadbare blankets that Arthur picks up and tries to lay out in some semblance of a bed. 

The tears that threatened before come now, unbidden. He wipes at them almost distractedly as he rearranges the blankets – an inevitable aftermath of the fear and pain, like the shaking of his hands. 

_It could have been worse._

_It could have been worse._

_It could have been worse._

He walks round the room until the tears have stopped coming, then he lies down carefully, trying not to shiver as the cold of the floor seeps through the thin cover. He’s hungry and he wastes a few minutes thinking about the untouched dinner upstairs that his father will no doubt be throwing away right now. His head aches and it’s hard to find a good way to lie down without it hurting, but he knows he got off lightly. His father hadn’t used the cane at least, or anything else. A night in the cellar was uncomfortable and unpleasant but he preferred it to the alternatives.

It’s hard to fall asleep but Arthur tries to think about Merlin; think about the little sounds he made when they kissed, about how he could hear his heartbeat through his chest, about the clumsy/adorable way he asked Arthur to be his boyfriend.

What had he said? _‘Something only we know about.’_ The thought makes something warm uncurl in Arthur’s chest. In the dark of the cellar, he hugs his secret and waits for morning.


	2. Hazel Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings pals! I changed the name of this fic to a slight variation on Louis MacNeice's wonderful poem Prayer Before Birth which can be read [here](http://www.poetryarchive.org/poem/prayer-birth). 
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains child abuse and caning.

Arthur doesn’t know exactly when it started.

The obvious answer is the day he dropped his mother’s picture. Exactly two weeks to the day after Morgana dragged her suitcases out to Morgause’s waiting car and left home forever.

It had been a long time coming, he supposes now, but at the time he had been paralysed with shock, never suspecting that Uther and Morgana’s recent late night screaming matches and mutual aversion would end in something so dramatic. 

He had always known Morgana was only his half-sister, that wasn’t a secret. But the fact that Morgana had another half-sister named Morgause was. And for Morgana this was apparently one deception too far on Uther’s part. After one final confrontation, she had packed up her things and driven away with Morgause, leaving her dishonest father behind. 

Leaving Arthur behind.

He was fourteen and up until that point had cared about little more than football and Xbox. Three years older than him, Morgana had more been a source of stress and irritation to him in the last couple of years than any kind of ally. But the house was horribly quiet without her; he missed her more than he realised. And in the fortnight that followed her exit, his father was like a changed man. His face was grey, as if drained of all blood, and he shut himself up in his study for hours at a time. When Arthur saw him he was short and irritable, snapping at his son at the slightest provocation. He rarely came down to dinner and if Arthur woke in the middle of the night, he could hear his father pacing in the office below.

After two weeks wandering round what felt, to all intents and purposes, like an empty house; Arthur began to experience a powerful sense of loneliness. He had never felt alone before really; had always had friends at school and Morgana to play with at home and his father to talk to. But for the first time in many years, Arthur suddenly missed his mother terribly. And wasn’t it funny, to miss someone you had never known? But a yawning emptiness was opening up inside of him in the newly silent house and Arthur was craving some reminder of the woman he had never met.

So he sneaked into Uther’s study, the only place in the house where a picture of Igraine was still displayed. It was high up on the bookshelf, turned inwards slightly towards Uther’s desk so that the best place to view it was from his father’s chair. Which was where Arthur sat down.

Looking up at his mother, a soft smile curling up her lips as the wind blew her hair about her face, Arthur suddenly felt a flash of anger. Why was the photo positioned like that, so only Uther could see it? Why weren’t there any more around the house? Why couldn’t Arthur have one of his own? It was his mother, after all.

Almost before realising it he was out of his seat, straining up towards the photo on the top shelf. If his father wouldn’t give him one of his own, he’d at least turn the photo so they could both see it better.

He stretched out on his tip toes, pushing his fingers as far as he could, just a little more…

But as he propelled himself up to finally make contact with the frame, he pushed too hard and he knocked it off the shelf. He watched it fall to the ground as if in slow motion. The glass shattered on impact, tiny shards flying everywhere across the floor.

For a moment he simply gaped at the mess, then he was on his knees trying to pick up the pieces of glass before Uther returned. But the crash had been loud and that was how his father found him, scrabbling on the carpet with the photo curling in its frame.

When he looked up, it was though he could see two weeks of pure rage building up in his father’s eyes and he knew he was for the lecture of his lifetime. Bracing himself, he got to his feet, an apology on his lips when-

At first he couldn’t understand what had happened. He had been upright and now he was back on the ground, carpet pressing against his face. Even as his brain was catching up to his new position, pain flared through the right side of his jaw and he could taste metal in his mouth.

Uther had hit him.

His father had hit him. 

And the metal in his mouth was the taste of blood.

He barely had time to think further than that before he was being pulled to his feet again and he flinched away automatically. But his father was pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… “

Uther was muttering apologies into his hair as he held him and Arthur instinctively squeezed back because it had all just been a horrible mistake, hadn’t it? He shouldn’t have broken the picture frame and Uther shouldn’t have lost his temper and even though his body was shaking slightly from the shock, he wasn’t angry. All just a horrible mistake…

His father let him go to examine his face. He clucked his tongue softly and then led Arthur to the living room, where he sat him down and left the room. He returned with a damp cloth, and an icepack wrapped in a tea towel. Gently, he dabbed the blood away from Arthur’s split lip and then had him hold the ice pack against his jaw.

Then when the swelling had gone down a bit, Uther had made Arthur soup and let him eat it from a tray on his lap so he could watch television. Uther had stayed by his side on the sofa the whole evening and when Arthur finally went to bed, his father caught his hand and squeezed it; whispering “Never again, I promise”.

But it had happened again. And again and again, and the only thing that changed over time was that his father stopped being sorry.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

It soon became obvious that Arthur couldn’t do anything right. He didn’t do well enough in school, he didn’t score enough goals in football, he didn’t walk straight enough, he didn’t use his cutlery properly, he didn’t wear his hair the right way. In the months following Morgana’s departure, Arthur suddenly found himself scrutinised under the full beam of his father’s judgement, and it was clear he had been found severely lacking. Uther criticised all that he did, picking fault with everything from the way he poured tea, to the way he shut his bedroom door. Arthur was constantly on edge, dreading his father’s presence. The nerves only made him clumsier and less competent; dropping plates and spilling glasses of water much to Uther’s disgust.

Then the punishments began. Arthur would be sent to his room without dinner for answering back, or be grounded for doing badly on his French homework. At first he was punished for more obvious offences; but as time went on he could incur Uther’s wrath simply by forgetting to put his shoes away or leaving his bike out in the rain.

Apparently Uther didn’t think groundings were enough after a while. It started out as taps to the back of the head and shoves to the shoulder; but the more convinced Uther became that Arthur needed putting in his place, the harsher the physical reprimands became. Uther seemed to have some kind of idea that Morgana had gone wrong due to insufficient discipline and he was determined to stamp out any similar signs of rebellion in Arthur early.

Arthur held up as best he could for a few months. He still nursed the hope that Uther’s behaviour was due to his pain at losing Morgana – as he adjusted to the loss, surely his father would become less angry. And he was beginning to understand that he wasn’t the easiest son to have. He was difficult and he was careless; leaving his football kit around and forgetting to wash up his dinner plates. And compared to Morgana, his performance in school was nowhere near as accomplished. He had the edge in sports, but Morgana had always been the brains and he supposed he was lucky she’d distracted Uther so long from seeing Arthur’s lack of academic achievement. He resolved to work harder at school, and began to stay up late to work on his homework and make sure he attained good grades. It was hard and sometimes Arthur struggled, particularly in Maths which had always vexed him. It might as well have been hieroglyphics for all the sense it sometimes made to him and try as he might, he couldn’t make the numbers balance – on paper or in his head. As he sat up night after night, frustrated by seemingly unsolvable equations and impossible theorems, it occurred to him that he might just be as stupid as his father seemed to think he was. He redoubled his efforts, determined not to give his father any reason to think badly of him.

 

But five months after Morgana left, Arthur reached his tipping point. 

He was laying the table for dinner when Uther suddenly appeared behind him, causing him to drop the jug he was holding. It didn’t break but it did fall on its side, flooding the table with water.

“For God’s sake, Arthur!” his father roared. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Arthur had long since learned his lesson about answering back but after five solid months of this kind of treatment, something inside him snapped. 

“Well maybe if you weren’t breathing down my neck all the time, I’d be less clumsy!” he shouted back.

“Excuse me?” Uther said, in a dangerous tone.

“You heard! I’m sick of you always having a go and taking everything out on me!”

“How dare you talk to me like that?”

Arthur knew he was on thin ice but he was feeling too raw and pissed off to say anything but the truth.

“It’s not my fault Morgana left!”

Uther’s mouth set in a hard line and Arthur knew he was in big trouble even before his father’s hand reached out to grab his collar. Arthur ducked back and ran for the door. He skidded across the hallway, grabbed his keys off the hook, and burst out of the house, Uther’s furious threats ringing out behind him. 

It was cold outside but Arthur felt like he was burning up as he walked down the street. 

_Why was Uther doing this to him? What had he done that was so wrong?_

_And would he ever stop?_

Arthur’s hopes that his father’s rage would lessen over time seem to have been completely unfounded. If anything, his father was getting angrier by the day.

Arthur walked for a long time, trying to figure out what to do. He considered going to a friend’s house but the guys he hung out with in school – Val and Kay and Gavin – weren’t really those kind of friends. He thought briefly of his childhood friend Gwen but he’d barely spoken to her since they’d started secondary school; it would be beyond awkward for him to randomly show up on her doorstep. 

His uncle lived a bus ride away but Arthur didn’t know him very well – he and Uther didn’t get on. He had a cousin or two dotted around but he couldn’t remember any of their addresses – he didn’t see much of them either.

He could call Morgana… but she was miles away and was he really going to drag her all the way home because of a fight with Uther? Even in his own head it was starting to sound ridiculous. She’d probably laugh at him.

He thought about the last few months again. Uther had obviously taken Morgana leaving very hard but that didn’t mean things had to continue this way. Arthur was nearly fifteen now and it was time to be a grown up about this. He would go home to his father and they would talk it out together. He would explain that Uther was making life at home difficult for him and surely his father would have to listen to that. Uther had just gone too far in the pursuit of discipline – all Arthur needed to do was persuade him he had no intention of stepping out of line, and that would hopefully be the reassurance his father needed.

He began to walk resolutely back to the house, practising tactics in his head. He would be calm and reasonable. He would start with an apology for running out, then he would try to explain why he had lost his temper. He would be truthful with his father and hopefully his father would be truthful with him. He imagined them both opening up, finally talking about Morgana and what had happened. If it went the way he planned, it could be cathartic, a new beginning for both of them…

When he finally reached the house and unlocked the door, the hallway light was off, which Arthur found strange. Uther usually left it on at night, to ward away burglars. He took a step towards the light switch and then a hand closed over his arm. 

“Where the hell have you been?”

In the darkness Arthur’s other senses felt heightened, he could smell very strongly the whiskey on his father’s breath. A cold fear had started to pool in his stomach but he remembered his plan.

“I’m sorry I shouted and ran out but I need to talk to you about-”

“Shut up,” Uther hissed, shaking his arm hard enough that it reverberated through his whole body. 

“Dad, I just wanted to-”

“Be quiet!” Uther was dragging Arthur forward now, in the dim light he could see they were heading straight for the cellar. Arthur never went down there, except occasionally to fetch a bottle of wine for his father. He and Morgana used to dare each other to go in with all the lights off when they were little – invariably Morgana lasted longer than he did; he was always convinced he heard something moving in the corner and it was enough to send him hurtling back up the stairs, all bravado forgotten in his quest to get back to the light.

Arthur closed his mouth, heart pounding as Uther opened the door to the cellar, flicking on the light and pushing Arthur down in front of him.

When they reached the foot of the stairs, Arthur turned to face his father, who swept past him.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” he said, leaning down to pick something up, and when he turned around Arthur’s stomach took another sick lurch as he stared at the cane in his father’s hand.

It was his grandfather’s walking stick, a thin length of hazel wood that he used to polish to an impressive gleam. After his death it had ended up in the cellar along with the other relics of Uther’s parents that he’d deigned to keep. 

“Dad…” Arthur said, mouth dry, because surely he’d got this wrong, surely his father wouldn’t…

“Come here, Arthur,” his father said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Why?” Arthur half-whispered.

An ugly look passed across Uther’s face.

“Because I have let you get away with far too much for far too long. You’re lazy and insolent and you have no respect for me or this house. Tonight’s little escapade has simply proved to me that I need to take a firmer hand with you.”

Arthur felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of the room. For a long second he looked at the cane in Uther’s hand. Then he turned on his heel and made for the stairs.

But it seemed his father had been anticipating this and he lunged forward, grabbing Arthur just as he reached the first step and hauling him backwards across the room. Arthur was half-hysterical now, twisting desperately in his iron grip, his breath coming in short choked pants. 

Uther thrust him facedown across the old writing desk tucked in the corner of the cellar, Arthur struggling under the hand holding him down.

“Dad, please! Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad! I’m sorry, Dad, please don’t hit me-”

“If you don’t stop squirming, I will tie you down,” his father hissed and Arthur swallowed a sob, trying to still his body.

“Dad, please…” he whimpered but Uther made no reply. There was a pause. And then.

The first blow hit him squarely across his shoulder blades. He let out a cry like a wounded animal. It felt like someone had laid a hot poker on him. There was barely a gap before another strike caught him, this time in the middle of his back and it shocked the breath out of him. He bit his lip to keep from screaming out again but no avail, when the third hit landed on his thighs he couldn’t help the wail that escaped him.

There were three more blows and Arthur barely registered when Uther stopped. Pain lanced across his body, clouding his mind, his back felt like it was on fire… He was dimly aware of slipping down from the table and onto the floor and then he was violently sick everywhere. Uther snorted in disgust above him and Arthur heard the sounds of him climbing the stairs but he stayed where he was on the floor, breathing in and out and willing the agony to lessen.

When Uther returned he threw a few cloths and a cleaning spray on the floor next to Arthur.

“Clean that mess up and then get to bed,” he said.

Arthur heard his father walk away for the second time and then the footsteps stopped. He looked up to see Uther’s gaze boring into him.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Arthur,” he said sternly. 

Mute, Arthur nodded.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The spirit of rebellion was crushed in him that night. Something had broken inside of him, irrevocably. The part of him that had always believed his father was on his side, was here to protect him, had gone. Over the next two years there were small defiances, each punished severely, but never again did Arthur try to reason with his father or privately hope that the situation would improve. This was the way it was now and the best thing he could do was keep his head down until he turned eighteen and could finally leave. 

The anger he had felt that night was gone too. In its place was fear, and a small sickening sense of shame that flared up on occasion. As far as he knew, no-one else at school had fathers that hit them. He was certain no-one else in his class had ever been held down and beaten with a cane. And he knew his father had never touched Morgana. So it must be him. Something about the way he was that angered his father so much he was moved to violence. Perhaps if he was smarter, or neater, or stronger, or braver he wouldn’t have driven Uther to this. Perhaps if he was a better son, his father would love him like he should. 

But he wasn't. There was something wrong with him and he couldn't seem to fix it. So Arthur vowed to never let anyone know what went on in his house; not even his closest friends, not even Morgana. He would rather suffer in silence then let them know how lacking he really was, how much his own father hated him. He would keep the secret behind closed doors so no-one ever knew what kind of person he really was. He would never tell.

And then Merlin came along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the lovely comments and kudos, it's really a big help in guiding how I write :)
> 
> ETA 09/15: Ok a quick note on this which you can ignore if you like... I was reading old kink meme fills and I found one with a bit where Arthur tries to see his mother's photo in Uther's office and Uther comes in and hits him. I have no recollection of reading this fic before but either I did and forgot, or it's an insane coincidence. Anyway, I am so sorry to that anon author! I would really never intentionally plagiarise and I feel crazy bad about it. I might come back and change this chapter later but yeah, my humble apologies :/


	3. Karmic Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a latte to anyone who's read or kudosed or commented, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Here's a little backstory on Merlin and Arthur...

He hadn’t been very nice to Merlin when they’d first met.

Scratch that.

He’d been horrible.

Merlin had transferred to their school in Year 9 and Arthur had seen him the very first day of school, in the field round the back. 

His first glimpse of Merlin was a thrashing blur of blue and white, dangling upside down in Val and Kay’s grip.

He was shouting incoherently, twisting to get free, but Val and Kay were already big as sixteen year olds and from what Arthur could see this kid looked like he’d disappear standing sideways.

Seeing him approach, Val looked up and grinned.

“You met the new kid, Arthur? He’s got a right mouth on him.”

“Yeah, all we did was ask to borrow his lunch money and he got all uppity,” Kay added. “So we figured we’d help him shake out his pockets.”

Arthur smirked.

“Any luck?”

“Not yet. But we’re hoping if we shake hard enough…” Val punctuated his comment with a vigorous jiggle and the new kid yelped again.

A small crowd of people had gathered to watch; some amused, some indifferent. There were those that looked uncomfortable too, but no-one was going to put their neck on the line for some new kid by protesting.

Except-

“Put him down!”

A familiar voice cut through the crowd and Arthur turned to see Gwen Fairfax walking towards him, a furious expression on her normally sweet face.

“Gwennie!” Kay called delightedly. “Don’t tell me you keep turning me down for this streak of nothing?”

“No, I turn you down ‘cause you’re a dickhead,” Gwen shot back. “Put him down, now, or I’m going straight to Mr Muirden.”

“Ooh,” Val and Kay chanted in unison, but the threat of the fire breathing headmaster was enough to make them loosen their grip and the boy crashed abruptly to the ground.

Gwen ran over to help him up. He got up slowly, clearly a little dizzy, and Arthur finally got a proper look at him.

He was dressed in the requisite school uniform, white shirt and navy trousers; although the pocket was half torn off the shirt and the trousers were covered in dirt from his sudden drop. He had a thatch of dark, messy hair and ears that stuck far enough out to immediately prompt Arthur into dreaming up as many jokes as he could. But then the boy looked up and Arthur found himself staring into a pair of incredibly blue eyes. It was like for a second he could read everything from that one look; the hurt and the anger and the scorn and the weariness, and Arthur felt a sudden flash of guilt.

Then the boy looked away and the moment passed. Gwen helped him gather his books and limp back towards the school building. She walked past Arthur like he wasn’t even there, though he could feel the contempt rolling off her in waves.

He and Gwen were best friends at primary school. Almost inseparable. But then they got to secondary school and somehow everything changed…

Still though. Who was she to judge him? It had only been a bit of fun, for God’s sake.

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

He didn’t really see the new kid much after that. Val and Kay still made a point of tripping him up if they saw him in the corridor, or knocking his lunch out of his hands in the canteen when their paths did cross. Arthur never instigated these incidents, but he never objected either.

They only had one class together – English. It was there that Arthur learned the boy’s name was Merlin, along with half a million other facts because the kid never shut up. Merlin and Gwen sat behind him in class and though he never spoke to him, he could clearly hear the endless stream of babble Merlin spouted. That’s how he found out that Merlin loved English and hated Geography, that Keats was his favourite poet, that he had a cat named Rosco, that he was allergic to liquorice, that he was scared of heights but still wanted to go up the Eiffel Tower one day, and a thousand other tiny little things that Arthur didn’t even realise he had absorbed.

Well, it wasn’t like he could tune him out, was it? And English was hardly enough of a distraction to keep his attention.

Arthur was pretty sure they hadn’t made eye contact since that first day, but he swore he could sometimes feel Merlin’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

Still, at that stage, Merlin was far from the forefront of his mind. 

But then things changed.

Once Uther started to… once things got bad at home, Arthur found his life at school slipping as well. He was constantly stressed about doing well in his lessons, and started spending lunchtimes and breaks going over his homework. Val and Kay complained that he was no fun anymore, but the truth was he didn’t find them very fun either. They floated around without a care in the world, all stupid pranks and immature games, and once it all seemed like a laugh to him but it had gotten harder to see the funny side.

Or perhaps he just couldn’t take pleasure in seeing them shove some kid so hard he fell over now that he knew how it felt.

Either way, they started to hang out with him less and less and pretty soon Arthur was spending most of his time alone. He’d always been popular in the sense that he was regarding as both cool and threatening, but no one was lining up to be friends with him now. And he couldn’t exactly blame them – he never made much of an effort with anyone before. In fact, he’d been downright rude to most of them, so what did he expect?

Arthur was lonely but in an odd way he felt like he deserved to be. Wasn’t this what his father had been saying to him all along? That he really wasn’t worth as much as he thought he was?

So for the next six months he adjusted to sitting alone at lunch, and partnering himself in class, and walking home on his own. Then, almost nine months after Merlin had transferred to the school, they had their first real conversation.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Arthur had been eating lunch atop the little staircase next to the Chemistry lab because no-one ever came up there. But the sandwich he’d hastily made in the morning tasted dry and unappealing, and he was only picking at it.

Last night had been bad. Uther had been drunk and ranting about something or other, and when he saw Arthur had forgotten to hang up the laundry, he dealt him a blow to the stomach that left him breathless and gasping for almost ten minutes. Shifting on the floor, Arthur could still feel the pain in his abdomen. And right beside it was a stone weight of anxiety and foreboding because Arthur had got his maths test back that morning and he only scored 17 out of 40.

There was no point trying to hide it from his father. Uther kept better tabs on his tests and homework than Arthur did. But he was going to be so angry…

Because he was alone; and because last night had been so terrible and tonight was going to be even worse, Arthur allowed himself a moment of weakness. Discarding the sandwich, he drew his knees up to this chest and rested his head on them, letting the tears come.

Only to start up in shock a minute later when he realised he had company.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean… I was just going to…”

It was almost karmic justice that it was Merlin who should have appeared on the staircase, that it was Merlin who got to witness the once great Arthur Pendragon at his lowest and weakest. Payback was a bitch, and Arthur had no doubt Merlin had been waiting for an opportunity to get back at the guy who’d been an idle bystander to his persecution at the hands of Val and Kay.

Arthur met Merlin’s gaze, not bothering to wipe the tear tracks from his face because it was beyond obvious what he’d been doing.

Merlin didn’t take the chance to make any snide comments, but promptly turned on his heel and left, presumably to go tell the whole school what he had just seen. Arthur couldn’t even be bothered to care. How much worse could things get anyway?

Then, unbelievably, he heard footsteps coming back up the stairs. Arthur tensed for a moment, thinking maybe Merlin had already told someone to come and look at the show for themselves, but it was undeniably Merlin’s dark, unruly head that popped back up into sight.

“Sorry, couldn’t do it,” he said, no trace of his earlier hesitance. “Mum said never to leave an animal in distress by the road and, you know, I’m not saying you’re an animal or anything but you’re clearly in distress so I reckon my mum’s advice still applies and I couldn’t just run off and leave you by the road. The metaphorical road, obviously.”

This odd little speech was delivered in a single breath, and Merlin capped it off by sitting down on the step in front of him. 

“What?” Arthur said, utterly confused by this turn of events.

“You’re upset,” Merlin said bluntly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not up-” Arthur started to say and then realised the ship had rather sailed on that lie what with the obvious tear tracks and everything.

“You don’t have to talk about it. We can just sit here if you like. Sometimes when I get upset I crawl into the airing cupboard in my house and hang out there for a bit. Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it? But it’s cosy and I can use a towel as a pillow and have a little nap if I want.”

He peered at Arthur suddenly.

“Do you want to take a nap? I can wake you up when lunch is over, if you like.”

Arthur had to struggle for a second to marshal his words into order.

“No, I do not want to take a nap,” he said finally.

“Yeah, I suppose it’s not cosy like an airing cupboard here, is it? And there’s always the risk that Dr Kilgarrah’ll pop out of the lab and force some weird chemical down your throat as one of his evil experiments.”

“Evil… what?”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me he doesn’t look like a mad scientist in a movie!” Merlin leant forward conspiratorially. “I’ve got this theory that he only took this job so he could hang out in the lab and mix up chemicals to create his own Jekyll and Hyde thing. We’re gonna come in one day and he’ll be all hairy and fangy and he’ll chase us round and we’ll have to throw test tubes and safety glasses at him until he turns back into a teacher.”

Once again, Arthur found himself speechless.

“I’m pretty sure Hyde didn’t grow hair and fangs,” he said at last, but Merlin just shrugged.

“Hey, well, don’t blame me if you arrive to class early one day and get eaten.”

Arthur snorted in spite of himself and Merlin practically beamed back. 

“I got you to laugh! I call that a victory. Wanna talk about it yet?”

“No,” Arthur said, and then tried to soften his brusqueness. “Why did you come up here in the first place?”

“Gwen’s off today and I get picked on if I go to the canteen by myself, so I came here to hide out.”

Merlin’s frankness was disarming and Arthur felt himself blush as he recalled his own past behaviour.

Merlin noticed.

“Yeah, I used to have to avoid you too, but now it just seems to be your dick mates.”

“They’re not my mates,” Arthur said quickly.

“What changed? Pushing people into lockers not as hilarious as it used to be?”

Ouch. He supposed he deserved that.

“No, not really,” Arthur said and then cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Merlin’s eyes. “I’m sorry. About before. Being a prick and that.”

“You really were a prick,” Merlin said.

“I know. I was horrible. I don’t know why I-” Arthur felt his blush deepen but he persevered. “I really am sorry.”

There was a long pause.

“Okay,” Merlin said.

“Okay what?” 

“Okay, I forgive you then.”

Arthur looked up, surprised.

“What, really? Just like that?”

Merlin shrugged.

“Well you haven’t been on my case in a while, and it was a very nice apology, and you do have a very cute blush spreading all over your face, so I think I should put you out of your misery.”

Arthur’s face was never going back to its normal colour again. He ducked his head in embarrassment and Merlin laughed.

“At ease, soldier. Here, have a fruit pastille.” Merlin proffered the pack to him, and no sooner had Arthur accepted then Merlin launched into another long ramble, this time about how Ms. Nimueh might possibly be descended from Genghis Khan judging by the way she ran a classroom.

And just like that, they were friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I should end that chapter there on a nice bit before I add even more angst! Thanks for reading pals, do let me know if you liked it / hated it / think Rosco's a stupid name for a cat


	4. Make a Plan to Love Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! This was originally meant to be one long chapter but I've decided to post it in two as the first half is present tense and the second is past and I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. I have issues with tenses. It's a whole big thing. You could say *puts on sunglasses* it's a bit intense... (yeaaaaaaah)

Arthur fell in love with Merlin slowly. There wasn’t any one point he could put his finger on and say _this is it, this is when I knew,_ it just seemed to sneak up on him. Like ivy growing round a tree, there came a point where he didn’t seem separate from Merlin anymore. Merlin had grown into him, put down roots inside him, and he was inextricably as much a part of Arthur as his own hands or legs were. He’d never quite felt that way towards anyone before and it both confused and excited him.

After their first reconciliation on the chemistry lab steps, their friendship had blossomed. He started to hang out with Merlin and Gwen all the time. Gwen was too nice to stay mad at him once she heard he’d apologised to Merlin, and soon they had rekindled the friendship they had in primary school. Merlin had been amazed to hear Arthur and Gwen had been such firm friends before, and delightedly insisted that he had been the one that brought them back together, and was due proper credit. Gwen had rolled her eyes at Arthur and he had laughed, but privately he was incredibly grateful to Merlin for so many reasons. He wasn’t on his own anymore and that made his home life just that bit more bearable.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The first time Arthur goes round to Merlin’s house is about a month into their new friendship. It’s a small house, in a slightly run-down neighbourhood but it feels homey the minute he steps inside. The house smells faintly like cinnamon, and it feels safe somehow, as though bad things don’t happen here. 

Merlin’s bedroom is almost the exact opposite of Arthur’s. Arthur keeps his room neat, Merlin’s is a mess. Arthur stacks his books on a shelf, Merlin’s are scattered around the room like ornaments. Arthur’s walls are bare, Merlin’s are a riot of colour and texture – band posters and postcards, concert tickets and photographs, bits of fabric and ribbon, and a number of drawings Arthur can only conclude Merlin had done.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s a tip,” Merlin says. “I’d lie and pretend it’s usually cleaner but to be honest this is about as good as it gets. My mum refuses to come in and clean here anymore, she’s says I’m like Stig of the Dump.”

“Who?”

“Did you never read Stig of the Dump?” Merlin looks amazed. “I thought everyone had!”

To Arthur’s surprise, he drops to his stomach and begins to wriggle under his unmade bed.

“It’s about this kid who finds a caveman called Stig living in a load of rubbish and they hang out,” Merlin’s muffled voice comes from under the bed. “We did it in school. I used to love it. Me and my friend Will once went to the local dump and tried to build things out of the scrap like Stig did but we just got really dirty. My mum went mental…”

Merlin wiggles backwards and gets to his feet again, triumphantly waving a book in his hand.

“Here you go! Knew I still had it somewhere.”

He shoves it into Arthur’s hands.

“Take it, I gift it to you. Everyone should read it at least once.”

“But it’s a kid’s book.” 

“So?” Merlin says. “Cool things don’t stop being cool, just because you’re older.”

Arthur finds he has no answer to that so he slips the book into his bag and says an awkward thanks.

“You want some tea? Or juice or milk or whatever? I think there’s some elderflower cordial stuff too but I wouldn’t trust it, my mum gets it from her weird New Age friend who I’m pretty sure brews it in a cauldron or something.”

“Tea is good,” Arthur says and Merlin bounds out the room, leaving Arthur alone.

He perches on the bed uncomfortably. He finds himself ill at ease in new places nowadays. He doesn’t like not being in control, not knowing whether he can escape the minute he needs to. But Merlin’s room is comforting in its own way, being basically an extension of his personality. The vibrant chaos of the walls seems to mirror Merlin’s own friendly exuberance; his quirkiness and colour. Arthur peers across to get a closer look at one of the drawings - which seems to be some kind of mythical creature, vividly sketched in purple and blue – when he feels something rub against his leg.

Biting back a cry of surprise, Arthur’s brain catches up even before he looks down to see a ginger cat at his feet. Listening to Merlin talk to Gwen in English, Arthur had heard plenty about Rosco the cat and his various shenanigans. From Merlin’s stories, he’d expected some big bruiser of a tom cat, but Rosco is surprisingly slim and neat looking, with three white feet and a white tipped tail.

Arthur has never been a particular fan of cats, he prefers dogs, but something compels to bend down and pick the cat up. Rosco is unresisting, almost immediately settling down on Arthur's knees and pushing his head into his stomach until he strokes behind his neck.

Up close he can see a scar on the back of the cats head, bald of fur, and he wonders how it happened. He scratches Rosco’s ears and the cat purrs contentedly.

“He likes you!”

Merlin is stood in the doorway, clutching two mugs of tea.

“Don’t sound so surprised Merlin; I’m not actually a monster.”

“No, you don’t understand, he doesn’t like anyone. Literally anyone. When Gwen first came round he sat under the bed and hissed at her for half an hour. And when the Amazon delivery man was here last month, he jumped on his back and tried to claw through his jumper.”

Arthur laughs.

“Hope you gave him a tip.”

“God, it was a nightmare. Seriously though, he barely even lets my mum pet him.”

“Is he a rescue?” Arthur says.

“Yeah. I got him when he was three. He’s always been wary of strangers. They think his last owner abused him.”

Arthur looks down at the cat on his lap.

“I saw the scar,” he says.

“Yeah. I don’t like to think of how he got it.”

Merlin sounds sad and Arthur is quiet for a moment. He forgets to keep stroking and Rosco head-butts his hand indignantly.

“Sorry,” Arthur says softly and he resumes his petting. Something about the warmth of the cat on his lap is comforting. 

Merlin is watching him with a funny look in his eyes but when Arthur asks why, Merlin just smiles and sips his tea.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Arthur gets a shock at dinner when Merlin’s mum comes home and he realises she’s the school nurse.

He’s been living in fear of the nurse ever since he was sent to her after a bad tackle in football. He’d been okay as she patched up the wound on his leg where the other boy’s foot had connected. But then she’d asked him to take his shirt off, so she could check if he’d hurt himself in the fall.

Arthur couldn’t. It was a week after the caning incident and the marks still stood out raw and ugly on his skin, impossible to pass off as anything accidental.

He’d refused, saying he hadn’t fallen that badly. She’d tried to insist but he’d been vehement in his protest, perhaps too vehement. She’d given him a long appraising look before letting him go, and even now he tries to avoid going by her office or passing her in the corridor.

And yet here she is, in Merlin’s house.

“Arthur, isn’t it? So nice to meet you properly. How’s that leg?” 

“Fine,” Arthur mutters, then adds “Ms Emrys” as some kind of reflex.

Merlin snorts behind him.

“Call her Hunith, weirdo.”

“Merlin!” Ms Emrys – _Hunith_ – admonishes. “He’s just being polite, which is more than anyone could ever accuse you of. But you can just call me Hunith, dear,” she adds to Arthur who nods, blushing.

When she goes into the kitchen, he turns to Merlin.

“Why didn’t you tell me your mum was the school nurse?”

Merlin looks bemused.

“It’s not exactly a secret. We’ve got the same last name.”

Somehow Arthur had never quite put that together.

Merlin sees his face and relents a little.

“Okay, I suppose I don’t exactly broadcast it. It’s not really a path to popularity, is it, being a teacher’s kid.”

“Everyone loves your mum,” Arthur points out, which is true. She’s well known for being sympathetic and kind – she even lets tired sixth formers use the sick room bed for a quick nap in their free periods. It’s for this exact reason that Arthur fears her – she’s not some bored employee who can’t be bothered to remember their names, she actually cares, enough to keep a special eye out for someone behaving oddly…

His fear diminishes somewhat as they sit down to dinner. Even he has to admit it’s highly unlikely that Hunith will suddenly demand he whip off his shirt while they’re sat eating apple crumble.

Hunith is, in fact, lovely. She obviously adores Merlin, listening happily to him ramble on about school and his English homework, but she makes an effort to include Arthur in the conversation too. He's slightly stiff and polite at first, but he relaxes after a while and manages to speak a little more than he normally does.

After dinner, Merlin drags Arthur back to his room to play him some music he’s convinced Arthur will love. It is rather nice, but Arthur’s more interested in listening to Merlin talk about it, watching his hands wave around as he gesticulates, the way he blinks a lot when he’s getting excited. He feels comfortable enough to lie back on Merlin’s bed, Rosco purring on his stomach, and let Merlin’s voice wash over him.

“Now this one, this one is… wait, hang on,” 

Merlin’s CD player is skipping and he reaches out to bang it with his hand.

“Stupid piece of crap- there we go, right, now, this one is really good. You listen to Bright Eyes?”

“No,” Arthur freely admits.

“Well they’re a bit teenage angst but I love them and they’ve had some amazing albums... anyway this song’s one of my faves, even if it is a bit sappy.”

“What’s it called?”

“Make a Plan to Love Me,” Merlin says.

They listen in silence for a minute. 

“He’s got a nice voice,” Arthur says.

“That’s Conor Oberst,” Merlin says.

Then he turns to look at Arthur determinedly, like he’s made up his mind about something.

“He was my first crush. That’s how I realised I was gay.”

Merlin’s voice is calm but Arthur can see his hands are shaking slightly.

“Okay,” he says eventually.

“I just wanted to say that, in case you don’t want to hang out anymore, because I’d rather know now.”

Merlin’s chin is jutting out, like he expects a fight, and Arthur thinks he looks so brave in that moment.

“I couldn’t care less,” Arthur says and realises it’s true. He knows his dad hates gay people, knows that he’s against gay marriage, knows that he assumes his son feels the same way. But Arthur’s never known anyone who was gay before, and now the first person he meets is Merlin – Merlin who forgave him and invited him to his house and saved him from loneliness. So how could he toe his father’s line?

“Really?” Merlin says, and his hands are still tightly balled up.

“Yes,” Arthur says simply and Merlin’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m beginning to like having you around, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur wants to say it back but he can't quite form the words, so he smiles instead and Merlin seems to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all the ace comments! It's really really helpful to hear what people like (and don't) to guide my writing so I appreciate it... Will post next chapter within 24 hours :)


	5. It's Always Ourselves We Find In the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, here is the promised second half. Now that we're back up to the present day, there'll be no more jarring tense changes, I swear.

Looking back, Merlin kissing Arthur had been a long time coming. Despite being the best of friends, there always seemed to be this slight feeling between them, a frisson that hung in the air anytime they were together. But it wasn’t until the summer trip to Cornwall that Arthur was able to admit to himself there was more between him and Merlin than just friendship.

By the time that summer before Year 12 came around, their little group of three had expanded considerably. Lance, a gentle guy who spent much of his time in the library had gradually become a regular fixture; and affable troublemaker Gwaine, who joined their school in Year 11, slotted so quickly into place that it was like he’d always been their friend. Then the inseparable Elena and Freya started hanging around with them; a pair everyone in school called the Yin Yang Twins, as Elena was blonde, loud, and clumsy and Freya was dark, quiet, and dainty. In addition, Gwen’s older brother Elyan and his friend Leon often sat with them at lunch and invited them along to sixth form parties.

Arthur liked them all, even if he was still most comfortable with Merlin. He found Lance a reassuring presence, and although Gwaine’s affinity for trouble could be stressful, Arthur felt safe with him too. It took him longer to warm up to Elena – her lack of tact made him nervous. He still didn’t speak as much as the others, and while he knew Gwen and Merlin didn’t mind, he feared the wider circle might find it weird. But Elena proved to have a heart of gold under all the brashness and Arthur found he ended up liking her very much.

It was Elena who suggested they all go to the beach. It was just before the end of the summer holidays and Elena’s family had a little holiday home down in Cornwall. The plan was for Elyan to drive one car, and Leon the other and for them to spend a couple of days at the seaside.

Arthur had to tread carefully when telling Uther. He rarely spoke about his friends at home, knowing that Uther would be unlikely to approve of any of them. He had been disdainful of Gwen even back in primary school, as her father was ‘just a postman’. He’d think Gwaine was a layabout, Lance a pansy, Elena a loudmouth, and Arthur dreaded to imagine what he’d say about chaotic, uninhibited Merlin.

The one friend that had met with Uther’s seal of approval was Leon. Uther had done business with his father and pronounced the family to be of ‘the right sort’ - i.e. old money. So Arthur played it tactically and asked his father if he, Leon, and Elyan could participate in a friendly football tournament down in Cornwall. Luckily for Arthur, his father had been on the cusp of one of his distanced moods, where he spoke little and wandered round the house aimlessly. Arthur looked forward to these rare times when Uther was caught up in his own private world, so much so that he barely noticed whether Arthur was coming or going. He could slip under the radar for a few blissful days, without fear of being targeted. As it was, Uther barely listened to Arthur’s garbled story of the football tournament, distractedly granting him permission before pacing listlessly from the room.

So they found themselves on one of the many Cornish beaches, sunning themselves in the late August heat. Arthur felt oddly carefree – a rare feeling in recent years. He was away from his father, he was with his friends and the sun was shining. 

The only raincloud on the horizon came when Gwaine decided it was time for a swim and stripped down to his trunks without further ado.

“Gwaine’s finally gotten naked,” Elena crowed. “Who had five hours?”

“My money was on three, I never thought he’d last this long,” Elyan said.

“Laugh it up fuzzballs, you’re all just jealous of my impressive physique,” Gwaine retorted, flexing his arm.

The image was somewhat ruined by Freya throwing a well-aimed handful of sand in his face.

“Right, you’re for it now, little one,” Gwaine said, scooping Freya up and dragging her down to the sea. 

One by one, the rest of the party stripped down to their bikinis and trunks, ready to get in the water.

Arthur sat frozen.

He couldn’t take his shirt off. Even if he could pass the fading bruises off as football mishaps, he could never explain away the criss cross of old and new scars that covered his back in white and red.

He had managed to avoid being shirtless in front of any of them so far. Football was the greatest challenge but he made sure to arrive early for practise and always changed in a shower cubicle. He knew the other players found it weird, but let them all think he was deeply self-conscious or had a hideous birth mark or something. It was better than the alternative. 

But now it seemed unavoidable, as his friends gestured to him to get up and join them in the water. He debated going in with his t-shirt on but it was white and might turn see through and he couldn’t risk it.

“You coming Arthur?” Gwen smiled, looking fetching in a yellow bikini. Behind her Leon was stretching his muscles, gloriously relaxed and ready to swim without a care in the world. It made something bitter rise in Arthur’s throat.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” he said as lightly as he could.

“Not optional, mate,” Gwaine called from the sea, where he was precariously balancing Elena on his shoulders.

“I just don’t feel like it,” Arthur said in a would-be casual voice.

“It’s not cold or anything,” Elyan put in from where he was wading through the shallows. 

“Come on, Arthur,” Freya shouted and then they all joined in, calling out to him to get in the sea.

It was all too much and he could feel his heart beating fast in his chest.

“I said, no!” he responded, much too loudly and sharply, judging by the shock on their faces.

“Alright, no big deal,” Leon said, in conciliatory mode, and he was giving Arthur a look that Arthur couldn’t quite stand.

“We’ll be back soon then,” Gwen said sympathetically but Arthur couldn’t meet her eyes so he fixed them on the sand, picking up handfuls and dropping them back down again.

Arthur stayed like that for a while, shame coursing through his body. He’d made a fool of himself, proved once again why he just couldn’t fit in. They were probably all talking about him now, shaking their heads at why he was so weird, laughing about how worked up he got…

“This seat taken?” a voice said and he saw Merlin sitting down beside him, not waiting for an answer.

He couldn’t look at Merlin either; sure he’d see pity in his eyes. 

“You alright?”

“Yes,” Arthur bit out, much too quickly.

“Well, I’m not,” Merlin said peevishly and that made Arthur finally look at him.

“Why?” 

“Have you seen Lance and Gwaine out there? Or Elyan and Leon, for that matter? They look like bloody Greek Gods! I didn’t even know it was possible for seventeen year olds to have a six pack!”

“Merlin, what are you-”

“I mean I’m used to Lance looking like he wandered out of some Vogue fashion shoot, but does he have to have the world’s nicest arms too? And look at Elyan’s back! It’s like he’s been carved out of marble!”

Arthur laughed in spite of himself. Merlin was working himself up to a right rant.

“And then there’s me, pasty little skinny malink with my little chicken arms and legs. How am I supposed to compete? I can’t get a tan like Gwaine’s. I’ve got Welsh blood, for God’s sake. Welsh people don’t tan!” Merlin finished indignantly.

“You know Gwaine eats like a pig, all those abs’ll turn to fat one day.”

“Huh, not soon enough. I’m the gay one, I’m definitely supposed to have the best body. It’s part of my stereotype.” Merlin turned to look at Arthur dramatically. “If I can’t rely on gay stereotypes, what can I rely on Arthur? Next you’ll be telling me I have to chuck out my Barbra Streisand CDs and stop wearing pink hot-pants.” 

“You hate Barbra Streisand. And pink.”

“It’s not the point, is it?!”

Arthur laughed again.

“Oh, well, I’m glad you find my plight amusing,” Merlin grumbled but there was a glint in his eye that suggested his whole purpose in coming over had been to make Arthur smile.

Arthur found himself almost pathetically grateful.

“Can’t tempt you for a swim then?” Merlin said.

Arthur tensed again, then made himself relax.

“I don’t really like the sea,” he said. “I’m maybe… a bit… scared of it.”

Another lie, but Merlin seemed convinced.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Pendragon,” he said, giving a funny mock salute. “I’m not going back in there anyway, I don’t think I should stand directly next to any of them lot for fear of unflattering comparisons.”

Arthur poked Merlin in the ribs.

“You look as good as any one of them to me,” he said and then blushed instantly, because that was embarrassingly close to a confession. But seeing Merlin stretched out in all his glory next to him, all lithe limbs and smooth pale skin, Arthur felt a little giddy and reckless.

It was worth it when Merlin turned to smile at him, and Arthur couldn’t help but think that he put the sun to shame.

__________________________________________________________________

Late that night, after a barbecue on the beach and several cases of beer, they all crashed back into the house. There weren’t enough beds for all of them but Arthur had managed to secure himself the tiny room at the top of the house, with just about enough room for the single bed crammed in it. 

Only when the time came to go to bed at about half three, Arthur had barely pulled the covers over himself when there was a knock on the door and Merlin poked his head round.

“I can’t find anywhere to sleep,” he whispered and before Arthur had time to consider it, he shifted over and beckoned Merlin into the bed. 

It was a wide single, but a single nonetheless, and they had to shift around a bit to find a comfortable position for both of them. Arthur was glad he’d worn his t-shirt to bed, even in the heat, but Merlin was only dressed in his boxers and the feel of his naked skin brushing up against Arthur was dangerously arousing. He forced himself to think of something else, but the alcohol was clouding his judgement. He was so close to just reaching out and sliding his hand down Merlin’s ivory stomach…

Fortunately Merlin seemed too intent on burrowing beneath the covers to notice Arthur’s quickened breathing. They eventually ended up with Arthur on his side and Merlin on his back. But he couldn’t seem to settle, and carried on wriggling around until Arthur could take it no more. He tugged Merlin onto his side, and then wrapped his arms around him so they were spooning. Sober Arthur would never have dared to be so bold, but Drunk Arthur was surprising keen to pull Merlin up against his chest and bury his nose in his neck. Luckily for Drunk Arthur, Merlin didn’t seem to object either, snuggling happily down into the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately. 

Arthur stayed awake longer, feeling the warmth of Merlin against his body, smelling the sea salt in his hair. He couldn’t deny how he felt, wouldn’t even try anymore. But that didn’t mean anything could happen. Even in the extremely unlikely event that Merlin liked him back; there was no way Arthur could be in a relationship with anyone. He couldn’t let anyone get close enough to guess his secret, and it would be so much harder to hide it from a boyfriend than a friend. The idea of Merlin knowing was unbearable, Arthur would die of shame. And how could he ever fool around or have sex without exposing the scars on his body? 

But most importantly, if Uther found out, he would kill him. Uther’s views on homosexuality were perfectly clear – he thought it disgusting and immoral. If he so much as suspected that Arthur liked boys…

No. It could never happen. Maybe one day, when he’d left home and moved on. Maybe one day if he ever managed to escape his father’s clutches. But right now it was impossible. Merlin was completely off limits. He had to put it out of his mind.

When Arthur woke the next morning, he was lying on his back with Merlin cuddled into his side, head on Arthur’s chest. He didn’t dare move for fear of waking Merlin and losing this moment. Even if he knew he couldn’t have him, Arthur wanted to savour the situation. Beams of sunlight were spilling through the gaps in the curtains, painting Merlin’s face with a warm amber glow. His long black eyelashes were clearly visibly against his smooth skin, and his lips were slightly parted in sleep. And Arthur, who’d never so much as picked up a paintbrush in his life, was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to paint Merlin; sketch him out in all his beauty and keep this moment safe forever.

Then Merlin stirred and his eyes blinked open.

“Hey,” he said sleepily. “Mmm… sorry. Didn’t mean to…”

Merlin moved his head from Arthur’s chest to the pillow, clearly thinking Arthur was looking at him in annoyance.

The opposite was true; but when Arthur tried to say it, the words caught in his throat.

A crash from downstairs reverberated through the house, followed by a loud cry of pain. Apparently Gwaine was up.

Merlin winced at the noise.

“God, so much alcohol. My head feels like there’s a monkey playing cymbals in it.”

“I’ll make us some coffee,” Arthur said, pulling the covers back, but Merlin grabbed his arm.

“No, stay a minute.”

Merlin didn’t qualify his request with any kind of explanation, just looked at Arthur as he slowly sunk back down on his back.

“Thanks for letting me sleep here,” Merlin said softly.

“No problem,” Arthur said, his mouth dry.

“I’m glad you came on this trip. I didn’t know if… I mean sometimes, you don’t- um… I’m just glad.”

Merlin’s eyes were very bright and Arthur wanted nothing more than to rock forward and plant a kiss on those soft lips.

But he didn’t, of course. He didn’t, because he couldn’t and that was the end of it.

But later that day when he overheard Gwaine asking Merlin why he hadn’t slept in the spare bed in their room, Arthur couldn’t stop the tingle spreading through his chest.

________________________________________________________________________

 

And then five months later, here they were. Five months of dancing around each other, with Arthur falling deeper and deeper until he knew with some certainty that while he’d never make the first move, he wouldn’t be able to resist if Merlin did.

And he hadn’t. When Merlin kissed him, Arthur had forgotten every thought of caution he’d ever had; thrown them aside in favour of the wild pulsing happiness that was vibrating through his body.

That was last night, though. 

And this morning, Arthur is afraid.

Uther unlocks the cellar door at 7.15 and Arthur bolts straight up the stairs and into the shower. His father leaves the house every day at 7.30, so if Arthur lingers long enough in the bathroom, he won’t have to see him.

Last night he’d been running on adrenaline and fear, but in the harsh light of day Arthur is convinced Uther will be able to see his secret written all over his face. How could he hide it? His father knows everything, or so it seems sometimes. And when he finds out, he’ll be angrier than he’s ever been, and God knows what he’ll do in his fury…

Arthur’s breathing is becoming panicky and he forces himself to calm down. He rubs shampoo in his hair, wincing as he brushes against the bump on the back of his head. He tries to think about Merlin, imagines his voice prattling in his head, but it only makes it worse because Merlin is the issue now. How could he have agreed to go out with him? All the problems he envisaged five months ago are still there, looking no less insurmountable. If he lets Merlin get any closer than he already is, there’s no way he won’t find out…

He steels himself for the inevitable. He’ll have to end it, today, before it has a chance to really start. He’ll have to tell Merlin that he made a mistake, that it wasn’t what he wanted after all. Even though that’ll crush Merlin and shatter their friendship beyond repair; a thought that makes Arthur want to weep. But it’ll only get harder the longer it goes on, and he has to be brave.

He dresses like a man preparing for his execution, and drags his feet all the way to school. He should find Merlin right away, take him aside in their form base and do it quickly. He’s not ready, he’ll never be ready, but he’s numbly prepared; and as he turns into the road the school lies on, he quickens his pace.

Only to nearly fall over when a figure suddenly jumps out from behind a tree.

“Jesus!”

“Sorry!” Merlin’s face is guilty. “I was waiting for you, and then I thought it’d be romantic to sort of pop out at you, but you were in your own world and I knew I should stop but I’d kind of committed by then so…”

Merlin flails his arms helplessly, and it’s such a familiar gesture that Arthur can’t help but smile.

“Who told you it was romantic to ‘pop out’ from behind trees?”

“Cosmo,” Merlin says, straight-faced. “It’s also where I learned how to wax my bikini line and match my eye shadow to my nail polish.”

“Very educational,” Arthur says.

“I’m a well-rounded individual,” Merlin says seriously and then he reaches out and quickly squeezes Arthur’s hand before dropping it.

“Was that another Cosmo tip?” Arthur says, confused. “Were you checking my life line or something?”

“No, idiot. It’s just, I know we’re keeping this secret for now, and it’s fine, it’s good, but you can’t expect me to see you and not want to hold your hand, even for just a second.”

Arthur blushes. Merlin’s peering at him from under his eyelashes, looking for all the world like a cartoon deer.

And the realisation smacks him in the face that he can’t do it; he can’t let Merlin go. No matter how selfish he’s being, no matter how bad things might turn out, he can’t give this up. The one good thing that’s happened to him in the last three years; the one person he feels like he genuinely couldn’t carry on without.

Arthur looks around to check no-one’s watching then he leans in and kisses Merlin on the lips, sweet and brief.

And all he can think for a second is how could Uther think this is wrong, how could anything that feels this good ever be wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudoses, I am so grateful. I really hope you are enjoying this fic, let me know if I can improve it in any way.


	6. The Word Made Flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you're all well! 
> 
> Just to warn you, the chapter contains a bit of smut (except it barely counts as smut as I am terrible at writing sex and it shows) so, er, that's you warned then.

Arthur feels like he's torn in two

On the one hand, he's living in fear. Every day he wakes up in a cold sweat, imagining what Uther would say if he knew Arthur was seeing a boy. And then, just as agonisingly, he imagines how quickly Merlin would leave him if he knew the truth.

On the other, it’s the happiest he’s ever been. He’s wanted Merlin for so long; has craved to kiss his lips and stroke his hair and feel the warmth of his body. Being able to touch Merlin is like a dream come true, and Arthur doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of running his hands over that pale, smooth skin.

Not all over, of course. In the month they’ve been seeing each other they’ve gone no further than a few messy hand jobs and a luxurious amount of kissing. Arthur would love to take it further, of course he would. Every time Merlin touches him, it sends a wave of sparks shooting through his body, a blissed out pleasure flooding his mind. 

But he can’t take his clothes off. And while Merlin doesn’t seem to mind simply unzipping Arthur’s jeans and reaching inside (expedience often being key anyway when they find a rare minute to be alone together), Arthur can tell he wants more. He took his own shirt off last week and Arthur was transfixed by the milky beauty of his skin; couldn’t stop himself from pressing kisses down his chest and mouthing at his nipples until Merlin gasped and writhed beneath him. But when Merlin had tugged at Arthur’s shirt, Arthur had stayed his hands at the hem; distracting Merlin by rolling him onto his side and kissing him long and slow. But Merlin’s no idiot, he won’t be put off for long, and Arthur’s running out of distractions.

It comes up eventually. Arthur’s been spending a lazy Saturday at Merlin’s house (Uther thinks he’s with Leon) and when Hunith goes out to meet a friend in the evening the film Arthur and Merlin have been watching gets completely abandoned. Arthur half-carries Merlin back to his bedroom, kissing him all the way before laying him down on the bed. He climbs on top of him and leans forward to lick at Merlins’ neck, inhaling the smell of apple shampoo and that faint vanilla scent that clings to his boyfriend’s skin.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Merlin murmurs against his ear. “I wanna try something.”

He manoeuvres them round until Arthur’s the one lying on his back and Merlin’s leaning over him. He dips in for a quick kiss and then unzips Arthur’s jeans, pulling them down slightly. Arthur tenses but Merlin seems content to leave them there before he reaches into Arthur’s boxers and begins stroking his cock.

The feeling could never get old, not in a million years, Arthur thinks. He looks happily down at Merlin, already half-hard with his ministrations, and then suddenly Merlin meets his eyes and grins. Then he’s moving his head down and-

_Oh._

_Oh Jesus._

Merlin’s sucking his cock.

It feels indescribably good. Merlin’s mouth is hot and tight around him and when he looks down he can see Merlin’s cheeks hollowing out, a faint blush rising across his skin as his eyes brighten in concentration…

It’s too good. Arthur can’t last. He feels his hips jerking involuntarily as he approaches his release and he’s stutters out a warning:

“Merlin, I-I’m gonna-”

Merlin doesn’t even blink. He carries on exactly as before and when Arthur comes with a muffled cry, Merlin swallows it down, like something out of a movie.

“That was… that was… wow,” Arthur says weakly.

Merlin grins, lips swollen and red. He looks deliciously debauched. 

Where did sweet, innocent Merlin learn to give head like that?

Arthur doesn’t realise he’s said this part out loud until Merlin laughs.

“Take it you liked it, then?”

“When I get my breath back,” Arthur says. “I’ll show you exactly how much I liked it.”

He lies back and holds out his arm and Merlin snuggles into it, head on Arthur’s chest like the day they woke up in Cornwall. Except Arthur’s allowed to touch him now.

It’s such a simple, glorious thing; having someone lie close enough to you that you can feel their heart beat through their body.

Arthur can’t believe how lucky he is.

When he’s sufficiently recovered, he takes Merlin in hand as they both lie there, and slowly brings him off. Merlin nuzzles into Arthur’s neck as he does it, letting out little moans and bucking his hips up against Arthur’s hand. He comes with a soft cry, and Arthur kisses him needily, struck by the urge to swallow up all the sounds that Merlin makes, to absorb as much of his lover inside himself as possible.

They stay there for a while, breathing each other in, and then Merlin stretches out.

“We’re all sticky.”

“Mmm,” Arthur murmurs, half asleep.

“Come on,” Merlin says with a glint in his eye. “We should take a shower together.”

Arthur opens his mouth to agree, because that sounds wonderful, but a warning bell in his head cuts through the sleepy haze.

“What? Er, no, I’m okay.”

Merlin tugs at his hand.

“Let’s go, Arthur, I’ll make it worth your while.”

He waggles his eyebrows at him, but anxiety is spreading through Arthur now and he can’t smile back.

“Sorry, I can’t, I have to… I have to go.”

“What?” Merlin says, frowning.

“I just remembered, I have to get back. I promised my dad…”

Arthur’s already off the bed, doing up his jeans, picking up his jacket.

“You promised your dad what? Arthur, don’t run off.”

Merlin looks almost tearful, sat on the bed looking up at him, and Arthur feels terrible but he has to get out right now.

“I’m not, I swear, I just have to… I’m sorry. I’ll call you.”

He doesn’t trust himself to say anymore so he heads for the door.

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Uther doesn’t bother to come out of his study when Arthur gets home, thank God, so he’s able to run straight up to the shower.

He washes quickly, mechanically, unable to stop picturing the look on Merlin’s face when he left.

He dries off quickly and heads straight to his bedroom to change. There’s a full length mirror inside his wardrobe but Arthur tends to avoid it at all costs, he doesn’t like to look at himself.

But today, for whatever reason, he pauses after pulling on his boxer shorts and turns to face the mirror. Turns to face what Merlin would have seen if he hadn’t run out today.

The bruises on his body are mostly old and in various stages of healing, save for one splotch of vivid purple on his right shoulder, where Uther had grabbed him and held him in place the day before. His chest is largely unscathed, save for the thin white scar on the side of his abdomen. It’s a least a year old, the result of scraping against the sharp edge of the coffee table when his father pushed him over.

There’s also a jagged red scar on his left knee sustained when Uther threw a whiskey glass at him when he was fifteen. It’s the only scar his friends and teammates know about since he’s unable to cover it up using shorts or shin pads when playing football. They think it’s from falling off his bike.

From the front, he is almost presentable. But when he turns around, and twists to see his back in the mirror, it’s a different story. This is where the real marks of his father’s anger lie. This is where his father lays the cane, or the belt, or, in one horrifying incident, the cricket bat. Some of the marks heal quickly, some only after a long time, and some will never go. His back tells an unmistakeable story. His sins are written on his flesh, distinct and unambiguous. 

If anyone ever saw. If Merlin ever saw…

It’s too scary to think about. Arthur turns away from the mirror and grabs the clothes he needs, shutting the wardrobe door firmly behind him.

_________________________________________________________________________

Merlin calls him the next morning and he sounds strained on the phone.

Come over, he says. We need to talk, he says.

Arthur knows what that means and he swallows the bile in his throat because what else did he expect? Merlin has clearly figured out that he’s wasting his time, that Arthur is simply not worth the hassle he brings. And how could he blame him?

He goes round to Merlin’s straightaway, not wanting to delay the inevitable. Hunith ushers him in with a warm smile and tells him to go straight to Merlin’s room. He dimly thinks that he’ll miss her when he stops coming around, she’s always so kind to him.

Merlin is sat in the middle of his bed when Arthur slips into the room. He’s biting his lip and he can’t meet Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur sits down on the desk chair and waits. He hears a noise beside him and then Rosco jumps up and settles onto his lap, kneading his legs. Arthur rests his hand on the soft fur and feels like crying, but of course he doesn’t. He won’t make this any harder on Merlin.

“Erm, so I guess I wanted to talk because… er…” Merlin isn't often lost for words and Arthur feels compelled to help.

“You want to break up,” he says dully.

“What? No!” Merlin sounds genuinely shocked and it makes Arthur raise his head to look at him. “Unless, I mean, is that what you want?”

Arthur shakes his head even though it doesn’t matter what he wants.

Merlin’s voice is gentle.

“That’s not what I want, either,” he says. “It’s just… you ran off yesterday and I didn’t know if it was something I’d done or if…”

He breaks off and scrutinises Arthur.

“Are we going too fast? Am I pushing you to do things you don’t want to do?”

Merlin’s worrying his lip again, his eyes bright.

“No,” Arthur says quickly. “Jesus, no. Not at all.”

Merlin relaxes slightly, leaning back on his heels.

“Was it something else then? Something to do with me?”

“No, it really wasn’t, I swear. It was just…”

Arthur pauses. Across from him, Merlin looks so lovely, so open and caring – taking the blame when nothing could be further from the truth.

What if he just said it? What if he just opened his mouth and said ‘My father hits me.’?

_My father hits me._

_He won’t stop hitting me._

_I need help._

Arthur opens his mouth.

“I need to tell you something,” he mumbles. “My…”

Merlin’s looking at him, all expectant. 

Arthur tries again.

“Merlin, my-”

The words keep getting stuck in his throat.

“I… I…”

Arthur closes his eyes a second.

“I don’t like my body,” he says in a rush. “I don’t like taking my clothes off in front of other people, even you, and when you wanted me to take that shower I just… freaked out.”

There’s a moment’s silence in which Arthur curses his own cowardice, then a lovely smile blooms across Merlin’s face.

“Oh thank God,” he says. “I thought it was something really awful.”

Arthur smiles weakly.

“Come here,” Merlin says, patting the bed next to him and Arthur gently shifts Rosco to the floor and walks over to sit down.

Merlin wraps his arms around him.

“I don’t care, at all. I don’t care if you never take your clothes off in front of me. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re gorgeous and I bet your body is too but if you don’t feel comfortable then just don’t do it.” 

Arthur sniffs, tears still pricking at his eyes.

“Really? You don’t think I’m a freak?”

“Arthur, it doesn’t matter to me. Seriously. I want you. All of you, including the freak bits.”

Merlin grins at him.

“Lie down with me, come on.”

They settle on the bed, Merlin holding Arthur close.

“The only thing you do have to change is the fact that you keep stuff like this from me. You don’t need to make excuses or lie. Just tell me and I promise it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Merlin drops a kiss into Arthur’s hair. “You can tell me anything and it’ll always be okay.”

Arthur closes his eyes and presses himself closer to Merlin.

If only that were true.

____________________________________________________________________

 

They stay there long enough that Merlin drifts off to sleep. Arthur thinks he should get up and go, he has a Maths test on Monday that he should be studying for, but he can’t quite bear to leave. And before he knows it, he’s falling asleep himself.

He knows something’s wrong the minute he wakes up, there are hands shaking him awake and that can only mean one thing. Uther hardly ever comes into Arthur’s room at night, unless he’s done something really bad and his father can’t control his rage until morning. But he’s here now, so that means Arthur’s really in trouble. He can feel Uther’s hot breath on his face and he cries out, bringing his arms up to protect his head as best he can.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t-”

“Arthur, wake up-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Arthur, listen to me-”

“God, I’m sorry-”

“Arthur, please!”

Somehow it’s the ‘please’ that breaks though his fog in his mind as he cowers on the bed, because he’s never once heard his father ask anything of him politely.

He opens his eyes slowly, and a face swims into view. 

Not Uther. 

Merlin.

“That’s it sweetheart, calm down now. It’s only me.”

Merlin’s tone is soothing but his eyes are full of worry and Arthur jerks away from him, sitting up on the bed.

“You had a nightmare,” Merlin says unnecessarily and Arthur nods, rubbing at his eyes as though he can pretend the tears were never there.

“Sorry,” he says and his throat feels raw.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Are you okay?”

“M’fine,” Arthur says, though he’s not. He feels utterly humiliated.

“Must have been some nightmare,” Merlin says shakily, and Arthur nods again.

“Do you want me to make you some tea or something?”

“No, I… I feel a bit ill actually. I think I better go home.”

“Okay,” Merlin says uncertainly. “If you’re sure.”

Arthur stands, his legs slightly wobbly. 

“Yeah, I think I just need to go rest.”

Merlin stands up behind him and Arthur’s acutely aware this isn’t so different to how he ran out yesterday.

Determined to do slightly better this time, he leans in to kiss Merlin and then wraps him in an embrace. 

“Thank you. For today.”

“Anytime.” Then Merlin adds, so softly Arthur could almost pretend he didn’t hear it. “Remember: you can tell me anything.”

It’s an invitation and Arthur knows it, but it’s one he can’t accept.

He gives Merlin one last forced smile and then slips out of the door. It starts to rain as he walks home, and he spends the rest of the afternoon gazing out of the window, watching it fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter sees the return of Valiant and Kay (boo!)... thank you all ever so much for reading and reviewing this fic, it's really fantastic to hear from you.


	7. Imaginary Numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello buddies, hope all is well with you.
> 
> Warning here for violence (not super graphic) and homophobic language. Also, maths.

Another month passes. The Easter holidays loom ahead, the pleasure of a break tempered by the fact that AS-Level exams will come shortly after. Arthur’s revision is already well underway. There’s only one subject that’s causing him problems.

Uther chose his A-Levels for him. Arthur knew History was out of the question, even though he loved it. Uther thought there was no point in living in the past; as far as he was concerned, Politics was the useful version of History anyway. So Arthur let that one go.

He did try to put up a fight for Philosophy though. Philosophy was Arthur’s very favourite subject; he loved the ins and outs of ethical theory, loved puzzling through Plato’s cave and Descartes’ dualism and Kant’s summum bonum. Arthur tried to win his father over with the argument that Philosophy developed the kind of logic and critical thinking skills that were useful in the world of business.

It didn’t work. Uther picked Arthur’s subjects based on their relevance to the company Arthur would one day inherit. Business Studies, for obvious reasons; Politics, to learn about statutes and diplomacy; French, as Pendragon Industries had a branch in Paris and were expanding to Lyon and Marseille; Maths, because the job required a good head for figures.

Arthur still remembers the disappointment on Ms Rowan’s face when he said he wouldn’t be continuing Philosophy. But she hadn’t chided him, simply said it would be a shame to lose her star pupil and he’d nodded and left quickly, before she said anything else.

He tends to do well in Business Studies, although the subject often bores him. He loves Politics and gets his best marks there. He doesn’t have a natural aptitude for French but manages to scrape by pretty well; especially with Lance as a study partner, who has a French father and is practically bilingual.

But Maths. Maths is the problem. 

He has no affinity for the subject at all. Where he can make sense of dates and facts, of events and evidence, numbers leave him completely cold. He could never quite get a handle on it, and Uther was furious when he only managed to get a B at GCSE level.

Arthur had gone into his AS-Level year full of determination to do well in Maths. If he applied himself and put his mind to it, he’d have to get somewhere.

But the jump from GCSE to A-Level standard was steep; much steeper than in his other subjects. He’d been struggling before but now he was drowning. He was always one step behind in class, always the last to finish a test or to volunteer an answer. His homework took a disproportionate amount of time to finish, and it invariably came back with red pen littered across it, highlighting his many mistakes.

Merlin is in his Maths class. Merlin’s always the first to finish a test or to raise his hand in class. Merlin’s the best in the year and his homework always comes back covered in ticks.

Arthur isn’t jealous. Well he is, but not in a resentful way. He covets the ease with which Merlin understands the subject, but he never begrudges Merlin his success. Merlin is never arrogant or smug about his ability. Instead he’s excitable and enthusiastic, positively giddy when he masters a new equation or wraps his head round a theorem. His passion is contagious and even dry, eccentric old Mr Mitchell adores him. Arthur imagines he doesn’t teach many students as committed to his subject as Merlin is.

Mr Mitchell is kind to Arthur too, in his own way. He never calls on him in class if Arthur’s hand isn’t up, and often when the others are engrossed in their work, he’ll come to Arthur’s desk and quietly try and talk him through the problem they’re working on. But he has hinted that perhaps Arthur might think about dropping Maths for A-Level. He doesn’t say outright that Arthur doesn’t have much chance at getting a good mark, but Arthur can read between the lines. He wants to agree with Mr Mitchell, apologise for wasting his time in the first place, and tell him he’ll drop Maths the first chance he gets. But he can’t. He’s not allowed. When the time comes, Uther has instructed him that he’ll let French go. Maths is not an option.

It doesn’t take Merlin long into the term to figure out that Arthur’s struggling. He immediately volunteers to give him a hand. Arthur feels bad, because there’s nothing he can help Merlin with in return, but Merlin is gracious enough to pretend that going over the Maths work would be helping them both out. Arthur is overwhelmingly grateful. Merlin’s a patient teacher and away from the stress of the classroom, or attempting homework with Uther lurking in the house, Arthur manages to do a little better.

He wishes Merlin was in some of his other classes so he could return the favour, but he isn’t. Aside from Maths, Merlin takes Art, English Literature, and Physics. Lance says it’s an eclectic mix of subjects; Gwaine says it’s a hot mess. 

“Genuinely, what career are you headed for with that lot Merlin?”

“I dunno. I could be an artist who paints pictures about Physics. Or a novelist who writes books about mathematics. Or I could sack the whole lot off and become a musician.” Merlin says idly. They’re sat in the canteen at lunch, spread out over one of the ten seat tables. It’s the last day of term before they break up for the Easter holidays.

“I wish I had your carefree attitude,” Gwaine sighs, and Elena nearly spits out her drink.

“Are you serious Gwaine? If you were any more carefree you might literally take flight!”

“How dare you?” Gwaine says. “I’m a man of heavy burdens and responsibility. I chose my subjects sensibly. I didn’t do a Merlin and pick my choices out of a hat.”

“Oi,” Merlin says absently from where he’s working on one of his art assignments. Arthur’s watching him in interest, seeing some kind of figure slowly emerging from the wild colours and smudged charcoal that dominate the sketch pad.

“Gwaine, everyone knows you took the subjects with the least work and the hottest teachers,” Freya points out.

“Exactly! Sensible choices!” Gwaine grins. “Not like little Arthur here, who apparently chose the most boring selection known to mankind.”

Arthur blushes.

“Politics isn’t boring.”

“Take your word for it, mate. Personally I couldn’t care less which middle aged white man is in power this year, but whatever makes you happy…”

“There’s more to it than that,” Arthur says defensively.

“What about Business Studies, then? Don’t tell me there’s more to that too.” 

Gwaine adopts a surprisingly dead-on impression of the Business Studies teacher, Mr Booker: 

“If Tom owns 20% shares, but then sells them at a mark-up of 1.7, then buys them back at a stock market increase rate of 11.3%, how little a chance does Arthur have of ever getting laid with his deeply uninteresting A-Level choices?”

Everyone laughs and Arthur tries to join in because there’s no malice to Gwaine’s joke, he’s just messing around. But Arthur hates being the centre of attention in this way, hates people making fun of him, especially about the inadequacies he sees in himself.

Out of the corner of his eye Arthur notices that Merlin’s looking at him and he’s stopped laughing with the rest.

“I’ve got one. If Gwaine continues to sit here and piss Merlin off with his inane chatter, how high is the probability that Merlin will throw custard in Gwaine’s face?”

Merlin’s tone is light but his hand grips the remains of his pudding pot as he speaks.

“You wouldn’t,” Gwaine’s eyes widen in horror.

“Wouldn’t I?” Merlin says and in a flash he lunges forward and Gwaine rears back, yellow goo dripping down his face.

“You are so dead,” he says and leaps up from the table as Merlin jumps up himself and they begin a frantic chase around the canteen that ends in both of them being chucked out by a burly dinner lady.

In all the chaos, Arthur is forgotten about. He smiles as he collects up Merlin’s things, holding the half-finished sketch reverently in front of him.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

They’re in the park after school when it happens. Merlin persuaded Arthur to move their Maths study session outside, rather than have it in the library as usual.

“I read something that said fresh air helps stimulate the brain and aids long term memory retention. There’s an office in Australia where they do all their work outside and their productivity levels are, like, ridic.”

“Yeah, well, Australia has the slight advantage of actually being warm, unlike good old Blighty,” Arthur grumbles, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. They’re sat up against a tree and the branches are currently blocking the last rays of sun of the day.

“It’s not even cold, drama queen!” Merlin protests. “Now, differentiation. How do we feel about that?”

“We feel bad,” Arthur admits. “Very bad.”

“It’s not that scary, honestly. Look, right, here’s the graph. If the equation y = 3x2 squared then we can calculate that-"

“Wait, slow down,” Arthur says, moving his hand to where Merlin’s is skimming across the page. They accidentally brush fingers and Arthur can’t stop a smile forming.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Merlin warns.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna sack off Maths to take me home and differentiate the gradients of my body.”

Arthur nearly chokes on laughter.

“Did you seriously just say that?”

“What?” Merlin’s a picture of innocence. “Doesn’t mathematical innuendo turn you on?”

“Oh, God.”

“So you don’t wanna bisect my angle?”

Arthur rolls over on his back, laughing.

“Can’t believe I’m dating such a nerd.”

Merlin’s hovering over him, hair backlit by the sun behind him, and Arthur’s just about ready to throw caution to the wind and pull him down for a kiss when a shadow falls across him.

“Jesus, Pendragon, it really is true. You are a fag now.”

Arthur sits up rapidly. Val and Kay loom above him.

They’ve barely exchanged a word in over two years. They’re not in the same classes or social groups, and Arthur makes a point of steering clear of them. Other than a few sneers in the corridors, he never interacts with them.

“Guess that’s what happens when you spend too long hanging round with queers like this one.”

Arthur clenches his fist but Merlin just rolls his eyes.

“You guys know I am out and proud queer, right? So calling me that really isn’t as insulting as you think.”

“Piss off,” Val hisses, turning his attention back to Arthur. “What happened to you? You used to be alright. Then you turn your back on us for what? This skinny little fa-”

“Shut. Up.”

Arthur’s suddenly on his feet, toe to toe with Val.

The other boy looks considering.

“We should beat the shit out of you,” he says eventually and Arthur almost laughs. He spends every day living in perpetual fear of his father and what he might do to him. Compared to Uther, Val and Kay are about as threatening as six year olds.

“Go on, then,” he says calmly. He can feel Merlin standing up beside him.

Val seems wrong-footed by Arthur’s lack of fear. He frowns over at Kay, and then turns back to Arthur, clearly deciding on a different approach.

“Sorry mate, that was out of line. It’s not you we have a problem with. It’s him.”

He spits the last word at Merlin who barely flinches.

“Oh, that hurts Val.” Merlin puts his hand over his heart in mock distress. “I thought we were best friends. I was gonna come over to your house and braid your hair tonight.”

Arthur sniggers and Val looks beyond furious. Before Arthur can blink, he gestures to Kay who steps forward and knocks Merlin to the ground with a single blow.

Arthur surges forward immediately, but Val’s at his back, pinning his arms behind him. He struggles briefly but Val’s grip is tight and he can’t quite shake him.

“Okay, enough,” Arthur shouts. “You’ve had your fun, now fuck off!”

“What is it about this little cocksucker that you like so much, Pendragon?” Val says into his ear.

“Get off!” Arthur bucks and twists, trying to throw Val off. Val maintains the hold and nods at Kay, who kicks Merlin in the ribs. Merlin rolls onto his side, groaning in pain.

“I think it’s his pretty face,” Val says. “Got you under some kind of spell, mate. Kay, let’s help our old pal Arthur out, eh? Let’s see if we can mess that pretty face up.”

Kay advances on Merlin, raising his fist. Panic shoots through Arthur’s body. He can’t let this happen. 

With a superhuman effort, he eventually manages to break free of Val’s grip and goes straight for Kay. He grabs him by the neck from behind and slams him into the tree headfirst. Kay slides to the ground, dazed, and Arthur turns just in time to see Val barrelling towards him. 

In a reflex hard won from years of private battles, he sidesteps and sticks his leg out at the last moment and Val crashes to the ground. Then Arthur’s on him, punching indiscriminately at his face and chest. He feels such a vicious adrenaline surging through him, flooding his veins with blind, merciless rage. All he can think is that they hurt Merlin, they hurt his boyfriend, they hurt the best person in the world. And why? Because they’re bullies and cowards and they like causing pain. Just like… just like… For a moment Val’s face morphs into Uther’s and Arthur renews his blows with force. He can hear Val moaning but not much else, just the steady thrum of heart beats in his ear and the sound of his fists pounding down on flesh, over and over and over…

“Arthur, stop. It’s okay, you can stop.”

Gentle hands are pulling him back and he recognises the voice as Merlin’s. He looks down, focussing properly for the first time, and sees that Val’s face is covered in blood. He stands quickly, sickened by the sight, and suddenly horrified at himself. Val’s still moving around at least. Kay’s limped over to kneel beside him and he’s looking up at Arthur with… is that fear in his eyes?

“Take him to hospital,” Arthur says, his voice hoarse and strained. “And leave us alone.”

Kay nods.

“Come on,” Merlin says and he propels Arthur to walk forward, away from the others and out of the park.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur says automatically. “What about you, are you alright?”

He stops in the street to look at Merlin properly. His nose is bleeding slightly and he’s favouring his left side where Kay kicked him, but other than that he looks okay.

Except.

Except there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Something akin to the way Kay was just looking at him.

“I’m sorry I…” Arthur starts but there’s not really an end to that sentence.

“No, don’t be, thank you for helping me. It was just-” Merlin breaks off, biting his lip.

“Too far?” Arthur says.

“A bit.” Merlin smiles wanly. “You… it seemed like you weren’t really there. Like someone else took over.” 

“Did I scare you?” Arthur asks quietly, dreading the answer.

Merlin considers a second.

“I was scared for you,” he says honestly. “But I could never be scared of you.”

Arthur’s feelings must show on his face because Merlin draws him in for a hug.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home.”

Merlin walks him nearly all the way there until Arthur comes to his senses at the end of his street and realises Merlin can’t take him to the door lest Uther sees.

“Here is fine,” he says softly. “Thanks for seeing me back.”

“Anytime. Now go sleep. I’ve got big plans for us this holiday and you need to be well rested.”

“Big plans, eh? More Maths jokes?”

“If you’re lucky,” Merlin says and then leans in for a kiss. It’s tender and comforting and Arthur’s tries to put into it everything about today that he couldn’t say.

Merlin seems to understand because he smiles lovingly at Arthur as they break apart, and squeezes his hand before he walks away.

Neither of them notice the man in the car across the street, watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such an OBVIOUS CLIFFHANGER but we're coming to the crux of the story now...
> 
> Thank you so much for reviewing and kudosing and stuff, it makes my heart sing with joy (my heart is tone deaf so it's a mixed blessing)


	8. The Lion's Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this chapter contains graphic violence, child abuse, and homophobic language. Please proceed carefully.

Arthur doesn’t go straight back to the house when Merlin leaves. He decides to carry on walking, to give himself time to think. 

He ends up by the war memorial in front of the park. There’s one of those ornamental stone water fountains by the side, the kind where water shoots out of a lion’s mouth. It’s not safe for drinking but Arthur uses it to wash the blood off his knuckles.

How did he lose it so badly back there? He hates Kay and Val for what they tried to do to Merlin, but he knows his reaction was way out of line. He’s just tired of being picked on, tired of the cruelty of other people.

He wonders, not for the first time, if this is the straw that will break Merlin’s back. If this time he’s finally going to realise Arthur isn't worth it.

But then, hadn’t Merlin walked him home? And held him, and kissed him? And said he could never be scared of Arthur?

Is it possible that Merlin does think Arthur is worth it?

This thought is new to him. The whole time they’ve been dating, Arthur has been sure that it’s temporary. He has no intention of breaking up with Merlin but he’s unofficially counting down the days until Merlin breaks up with him. It just seems like an inevitability.

But Merlin hadn’t gone yet. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t know what Arthur was like, they’d been friends long before they were lovers. But every ugly side of Arthur that Merlin’s seen so far (the shower, the nightmare, the park) hasn’t seemed to have put him off at all. 

Arthur feels a kind of happiness spreading through him. Perhaps Merlin really does want to be with him. Perhaps he’ll stay with Arthur despite all the flaws. Perhaps Arthur will even be able to tell Merlin about…

Maybe. It’s a big step, and one he’s not sure he can take yet. But the thought is there, beginning to take cautious root as he makes his way back to his house.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

Uther’s car is outside so he must be home, but Arthur made sure he came back before curfew so he doesn’t have to worry. 

He drops his bag to his feet and turns to hang his jacket up. If he’d been more alert, he might have read into the ominous stillness of the house, but as it is his brain is clouded with thoughts of Merlin. He doesn’t fully register movement behind him until a hand clamps over his mouth. It’s already too late to struggle by then as an arm snakes round his body, pinning his arms to his sides and he finds himself being half dragged, half carried towards the cellar door. His assailant kicks it open and forces him down the stairs. The grip on him loosens as they reach the cellar floor and he is shoved forward, ending up sprawled on the cold concrete.

He turns to see his father standing before him, terrifying in his rage.

“I saw you,” Uther says, and Arthur’s world falls apart.

“Saw me?” he croaks out as though an attempt at ignorance will save him now but his answer only serves to enrage his father, who swoops down to pull his head sharply back by the hair.

“Do not. Play innocent with me,” Uther hisses in his ear, and Arthur flinches away, wincing in the tight grip his father has on him.

“I will only ask you this once, and I would not recommend that you lie to me.”

Uther’s voice is like a death sentence.

“Is today the first time? Is it?”

Arthur knows the answer to that. The only answer possible: yes. Today is the first time. Merlin kissed him out of nowhere. He didn’t want it and he certainly didn’t like it. He hates Merlin like he hates all gay people; they disgust and repulse him. He’ll never see or speak to that boy again.

That’s the only answer that can save him from Uther’s rage. He’ll be punished, of course, but it will be mild compared to what Uther will do if Arthur admits the truth. It’s the only way.

Arthur looks at his father and he can’t say it. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he has Merlin now, he has someone who loves and cares about him unequivocally, unconditionally, and he finally knows the difference between Merlin’s love and the kind of love his father dishes out.

Maybe it’s the fact that Merlin made him feel like he was worth something again, that he wasn’t the useless waste of space his father always said he was. That he is clever and kind and brave and he does have a right to be happy.

Or maybe it’s the memory of the first time his father dragged him down to this very cellar and tried to make him believe he was less than human. And it worked too; it worked so well that he’s spent the last three years living in fear and shame, believing he deserved what was happening to him. 

He’s not that little boy anymore. And he doesn’t deserve this.

“No,” Arthur says clearly.

Uther is so surprised, perhaps more by Arthur’s tone than what he says, that he relinquishes his hold on Arthur’s hair.

“How long?” He asks dangerously.

“Two months,” Arthur says. “But I’ve loved him for longer than that.”

Uther gapes. Arthur’s never seen an expression like that on his father’s face before.

“You mean to tell me you’re in love with that little faggot?” Uther’s voices raises in volume. “You mean to tell me that you’re a faggot yourself?”

Arthur’s heart is pounding but he won’t give in now.

“Yes. I’m gay and I’m in love with Merlin. And he’s in love with me.”

Uther stands suddenly. He walks towards the back wall, rubbing his hand over his face.

Arthur gets to his feet, watching him warily. But his father doesn’t seem at all inclined to attack him. He’s pacing back and forth, muttering slightly to himself. Hunched like that, his greying hair in disarray, all Arthur can think is that his father looks very old all of a sudden.

“And you think… you think I will allow this?” Uther’s voice sounds hoarse, he’s still turned away.

“You can’t change who I am, Dad,” Arthur says simply. He hasn’t called him Dad in years but it feels right for the moment. He almost feels sorry for his father, standing there looking for all the world like his heart was broken. How must it feel to be so full of hate that you can’t even recognise love in other people? To be so bitter that you can’t accept what makes your own flesh and blood happy?

It’s not Arthur’s problem. He feels freer somehow, as though a burden has lifted from his shoulders. Like he’s finally broken his father’s control over him. He doesn’t know what will happen next, whether Uther will even let him stay in the house, but he can figure it out. For once he’s stood up for himself, for Merlin, and it feels good.

He starts to walk towards the stairs. He hears his father moving behind him but he keeps his pace steady and doesn’t look back. It’s over and Uther knows it.

But he’s no sooner put his foot on the first step when there’s a hand on his arm, spinning him round.

And then white hot pain explodes behind his eyes.

Uther has hit him with a closed fist before, but never on his face. And in the midst of the pain Arthur registers that all this time his father must have been holding back because he’s never been punched with the full force of a grown man’s fist before. He hears the sickening crack as the bones in his nose break and warm blood is gushing down his face even before he hits the ground.

For a few seconds he can’t see and panic overwhelms him but then his vision comes back into blurry focus and he sees his father advancing on him. 

The first kick to his side knocks the breath out of him and he’s still struggling to get it back when the second kick lands. He howls and tries to curl onto his side but Uther doesn’t let him, toeing him onto his back before delivering a third vicious kick that feels as though it breaks a rib or two.

Uther leans down and hauls Arthur up.

“My son is not going to be a fag. And you will learn that now or I will beat it into you.”

Arthur sobs in pain, barely able to focus on his father’s words.

“Do you understand me?” Uther spits, and he grabs Arthur’s right arm, forcing it up his back.

“Please… stop… hurts… please...” Arthur gasps out.

“I said, do you understand me?” Uther repeats, twisting Arthur’s arm even further and then there’s a snapping noise and an excruciating agony shoots through his arm.

“Yes!” Arthur screams, and Uther abruptly lets go, leaving Arthur to drop to his knees, fire coursing through his body. 

“You don’t. But you will,” Uther snarls and he sounds deranged. He pushes Arthur forward, who only just manages to land on the other side from his broken arm. He lies there panting for a moment, good hand spread-out to brace himself on the floor.

All his previous bravery is gone. Arthur would denounce his sexuality a thousand times if he thought his father would stop but it’s too late now and he can only watch in horror as Uther brings his foot down on Arthur’s outstretched hand.

He screams and screams and it’s all too much, he can’t cope with the pain lancing through every part of him…

He’s dimly aware that Uther is speaking again, but he can’t pick out any words, a buzzing noise is filling his ears. His father looms over him and there’s a question in his eyes, but Arthur doesn’t know the answer. His father’s hands cradle his face for a moment, a parody of an embrace. Then he slams Arthur’s head into the ground and Arthur drifts into blissful unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that was so horrible! Uther is a total monster.
> 
> As ever, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I love to hear if you like or dislike something and I very much appreciate it.


	9. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with this story, I know last chapter was brutal. This one is an angst fest too, but comfort is coming, I promise! Am so appreciative of all the reviews and kudoses, you guys rock.

Arthur doesn’t remember getting out of the cellar, all he knows is that he’s running. Running the familiar path to Merlin’s house, ignoring the way his body throbs and aches, knowing that he can’t slow down until he gets there. He doesn’t know if Uther’s on his trail so he runs like the sky is falling, casting looks behind him into the pitch black.

When he reaches the house he raps on the door desperately and Merlin answers almost immediately. He gasps when he sees Arthur, ushering him inside the house and sitting him down on the sofa.

“What happened?” Merlin keeps asking but the run is catching up with Arthur and he pants, lightheaded, unable to answer.

Merlin looks stricken; he runs to get a bowl of water and some antiseptic and begins dabbing at the blood on Arthur’s face.

“Merlin…” Arthur eventually wheezes out. “Merlin, I think my arm is broken.”

Merlin pauses in his ministrations to look at Arthur’s arm and his face contorts in horror.

“Oh no.”

“What? What?” Arthur says.

“I’m so sorry Arthur. I think you’re going to lose it.”

“Lose what?”

“The arm. It’s too badly broken; I think they’ll have to cut it off.”

“What?” Arthur gapes.

“I’m really sorry. It’s just too…”

He indicates the arm and Arthur stomach drops when he turns to see it, so swollen and discoloured it barely resembles a limb at all anymore – more like a growth or a tumour.

“Oh my God, oh my God-” Arthur breathes, panicking, and Merlin just sits back, regarding him. 

“Merlin, I need… I need…”

Arthur can’t speak properly and Merlin cocks his head at Arthur, waiting.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Don’t answer that,” Arthur says, seized with a cold terror as Merlin gets to his feet.

“Merlin, don’t, it’s him,” Arthur whispers.

“Who?” Merlin says, and then he swings the door open and Uther is standing there.

“Run!” Arthur shouts, but it’s too late and Uther has already grabbed Merlin. There’s a knife in his hand and he raises it high.

“Father, stop!” 

Arthur can’t move, his whole body is locked in place as he watches Uther thrust the knife into Merlin’s stomach. There’s blood everywhere, gushing from the wound as Uther lets go and Merlin falls to the ground, gasping. 

“Arthur,” he says, blood bubbling out of his mouth. “Help me…”

“Merlin!” Arthur cries, still frozen where he sits.

Uther advances to stand over Merlin, raising the knife high again.

“Shut up, boy,” Uther says. “Let me finish here. And then we can see about cutting off that arm.”

Arthur opens his mouth and screams and screams-

 

And wakes, suddenly. 

For a few seconds he can’t focus, lost in the world of the dream, but then he opens his eyes properly and it all comes flooding back.

The cellar. Uther’s rage. The crack of his nose as it broke. The feeling of bones shifting in his arm. 

A sob half rises in his throat. Did his father really do those things to him?

He takes in his surroundings properly for the first time and realises that, although he’s lying in a bed, he’s not in his bedroom. He’s in the spare guest room on the third floor, the one that’s hardly ever used.

There’s a dull ache throbbing through his body, nowhere near as agonising as it was during the beating, but still painful. He looks down and sees that his right arm is resting on the covers, bandaged up and covered in a sling. His left hand is bandaged too, the three middle fingers taped together where his father had stamped down on them. He feels carefully under the covers, wincing as he moves his free hand, and finds that his ribs have been taped up too. The back of his head hurts as well, Arthur can feel it twinge as he turns in bed.

There’s no time for further exploration as the door creaks open and his father enters.

Arthur starts shaking, panic coursing through his body.

Uther looks as big and terrifying as he ever did, and now he’s got his son where he wants him, completely powerless. Arthur knows he has no chance of fighting back or running away if his father chooses to strike.

However, Uther merely sits down in the chair next to the bed.

“You’re awake,” he says, and his voice is quiet. “How do you feel?”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say.

“Your arm was a clean break, it should heal nicely.” Uther says.

“Who-” Arthur tries to say, but his voice is raspy and he can’t finish the sentence.

His father takes a glass of water from the side table and helps him sit up to take a drink. Arthur can’t control his anxious reaction to his father’s proximity but Uther doesn’t seem to notice.

He waits until Arthur has taken a few gulps, then sets the glass back on the table.

“Who patched you up?” Uther says, completing his unfinished question. “I called Dr Aredian. Other than a couple of broken ribs and fingers, you’re good as new. He says you’ll be fine in a week or so.”

Aredian. Arthur should have known. He’s one of Uther’s oldest friends; they went to the same university. He runs a private medical practice in the centre of town.

He’s ‘patched up’ Arthur before. He treated Arthur’s knee after the whiskey glass incident, and he stitched up Arthur’s head about a year ago when Uther pushed him into the kitchen cabinet.

Aredian is not a stupid man, and Arthur has long since figured out that the doctor knows how he gets injured. What he is, apparently, is a loyal man because he faithfully fixes Arthur up whenever Uther calls, and keeps it all off the books. 

Arthur is suddenly glad he was unconscious through all this; if he had to look Aredian in the eye while the man calmly erased the evidence of Uther’s rage, he might have been sick.

“You’ll need something to eat,” Uther says abruptly, and then leaves the room. He returns within five minutes, bearing a tray with a bowl of tomato soup on it.

Arthur doesn’t feel particularly hungry, but he allows his father to manhandle him into position and feed him the soup, as both of his arms are out of commission. 

The soup does make him feel a little better, a little more clearheaded. 

Uther is looking directly at him, and Arthur forces himself to meet his gaze, so as not to anger him.

Whatever he expects his father to say, it’s not what comes next.

“Arthur. I apologise for losing my temper like that. I went too far. It was not my intention.”

Arthur can only blink at him.

“I was shocked by what I had seen, and then by what I heard from you. I overreacted.”

Uther’s tone is very serious, his eyes boring into Arthur’s. 

“Of course, you must take an equal share in the blame, for goading me in that fashion. And for your previous inappropriate behaviour. We both acted badly, and I would like us to start afresh.”

Arthur is dumbstruck. Does Uther genuinely think they’re both equally at fault? Arthur for falling in love and Uther for beating his son half to death?

It’s unbelievable, and yet it’s so typical of his father that he can’t even be that surprised. 

Uther is looking at him expectantly, and while he can’t voice the hearty agreement that Uther wants from him, he doesn’t dare go up against his father again. 

So he nods quickly and Uther relaxes in his chair.

“Very well then. Aredian left some painkillers, you should take two now.”

Arthur nods again and lets Uther help him swallow the pills along with some water.

It’s only after he sinks back down into the pillows and a sudden drowsiness overwhelms him that he realises that his father’s given him sleeping pills, not painkillers at all.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

When he wakes again, the room is empty. His head feels fuzzy and his mouth is dry. He looks around for a clock but finds there isn’t one. There isn’t much of anything in the room as he looks around properly. The spare guest room isn’t used very often, and had become more of a repository for boxes of papers and piles of old books. But it’s all gone now; the only items in the room beside the bed are a chair and a side table.

Arthur turns to the window next to the bed and heaves himself up gingerly to make a cursory attempt to open it. It doesn’t budge, and on closer inspection appears to be painted or glued shut.

It’s uncomfortably like a prison, an impression which is only reinforced when there’s a sound at the door and Arthur realises that he’s actually been locked in.

Uther enters, key in hand, and Arthur regards him warily.

“You look a bit better,” Uther says approvingly. “Sleep must have done you good.”

Arthur bites back the response that the sleep wasn’t exactly natural. He can’t afford to annoy his father now.

“I’ll bring you some dinner in a minute,” Uther says. “Right after-”

“What day is it?” Arthur says suddenly.

“Monday,” Uther says shortly, looking displeased at the interruption.

Arthur barely notices. Monday? Three days had passed since the cellar incident? Three days he’d been lying here, no doubt being kept asleep by Aredian and his father… Three days spent locked up in a room like some kind of criminal. How much longer would Uther keep him here?

“We have some business to attend to now,” Uther says briskly, breaking into Arthur’s reverie.

He pulls a mobile phone from his pocket and Arthur recognises it as his own.

Arthur automatically reaches out for it but Uther pulls it back from his grip.

“Not so fast. We’re going to make a call to your little _friend_ and we need to be clear on what we’re going to say.”

Arthur takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Merlin?” he says and Uther’s lip curls in disgust.

“The very same.”

“You’re going to ring him?”

“No. You are. And you’re going to tell him it’s over. I don’t care what excuse you use, as long as you make it clear that you don’t ever want to see him again.”

Arthur opens his mouth and Uther cuts him off.

“I don’t want to hear a word of protest. This ends, right now.”

Arthur weighs his options. He’s scared. No, scratch that, he’s petrified. The last conversation about Merlin ended in the most vicious beating of his life and he knows he can’t face another like it. He’s completely at Uther’s mercy here and he should do as he says.

But on the other hand, he can’t do that to Merlin. He just can’t. It would break his heart and it would break Arthur’s own. What’s the point of toeing Uther’s line if it would mean he had nothing left to live for anyway?

“No,” Arthur says. “You can do whatever you like to me, kill me if you want. I’m not doing it.”

His heart is pounding like he’s run a marathon but to his surprise, Uther doesn’t explode in rage. A sort of half-smirk crosses his face.

“Very well, then.”

He turns as if to go, and then pauses.

“Merlin’s family are well off, are they?”

Arthur squints at his father.

“You see, I did a little digging and realised that his mother is the nurse at your school. And I simply wondered if they’d be able to survive financially once she loses her job.”

The threat is obvious but Arthur’s not falling for it.

“You can’t get her fired for nothing, just because you’re on the board of governors. It doesn’t work like that and you know it,” he says bravely.

“Oh, I’m aware not even I have that power. But what will the board of governors or, for that matter, the police think when they find out she’s been taking advantage of a student in her care?” 

Uther’s eyes are gleaming.

“What?”

“You, Arthur. What will happen when I tell the world that Ms Emrys has been using her position as school nurse to sexually abuse my son?”

Arthur blood runs cold for a moment.

“You don’t… you can’t do that…”

“Why not? Would I not be remiss as a parent not to have noticed you becoming withdrawn, depressed, anxious? Would I not be culpable if I did not immediately inform the authorities that you had tearfully confessed to me that Ms Emrys had been doing terrible things to you?”

“I’d tell them it was a lie!”

“Of course you would. You’re in denial, and you’re scared. Ms Emrys has been grooming you for so long that you’re too afraid to tell the truth now.”

“You’d never prove it at trial.”

“Maybe not. But do you really think she’d be able to keep her job? Or find a job anywhere else for that matter? Tragically, a reputation like that would follow you wherever you went.”

Uther leans in close.

“So I ask you again, are Merlin’s family well off enough to take the hit? Or perhaps more importantly, do you think Merlin will want anything to do with you after you drag his mother’s name through the mud like that?”

Arthur sinks back into the covers, well and truly defeated. If this was a game of chess, his father had just called checkmate. He should have remembered that he could never outmanoeuvre Uther. And now he would have to speak to Merlin and tell him that-

“Father, please-” Arthur begins but Uther just thrusts the phone at him.

“Not another word,” he says. Arthur watches as his father calls Merlin’s number, switching on speakerphone before handing the phone to him.

Arthur silently prays that Merlin won’t answer, but he picks up almost straight away. 

“Arthur? Jesus, I’ve been calling you all weekend, where’ve you been?”

Merlin sounds much more concerned than annoyed and it’s more than Arthur can bear.

“Sorry, I was busy,” he mumbles.

“Oh, well, at least you’ve got a great excuse,” Merlin says sarcastically. “Busy, were you? Seems legit.”

“It’s… I’m really sorry, okay?” Arthur says, closing his eyes for a second.

“It’s okay, I’m only messing.” Merlin’s voice sounds gentler. “Is everything alright?”

Uther is glaring at him and Arthur knows he wants him to cut to the chase.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I… I have to talk to you.”

“Sounds ominous,” Merlin says with a laugh.

“I can’t… um, I can’t… I can’t see you anymore,” Arthur says quietly.

There’s a long pause.

“What?”

“I can’t… look, we can’t go out anymore, okay?”

“I… I don’t get where this is coming from.” 

Merlin sounds heart-breakingly confused.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, blinking back tears. 

His father is frowning at him, no doubt wanting him to be brusquer, but he can’t bear to be any more cruel than he already is being.

“But why?” Merlin says, and he sounds desperate.

“Because I don’t want to,” Arthur says and the lie cracks him right down the middle.

There’s another silence.

“Is this a joke?” Merlin finally says, pitifully.

“No, just… just stay away from me, okay?” Arthur says, and he can’t stand to hear another word so he hangs up. 

Uther nods approvingly.

“That’s settled then. No doubt it will be hard to avoid seeing the boy at school, but I trust you will keep in mind what will happen if you attempt to rekindle the relationship.”

“So I’m allowed to go back to school then?” Arthur can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Uther frowns.

“Of course you’re going back to school.”

“I thought you might keep me locked up in here,” Arthur says dully.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only staying in here until you’ve properly healed. I’m afraid you might miss most of the Easter holidays but you rather brought that on yourself.”

Arthur gets it. He’s staying in here until his injuries have mended so that he’ll have no proof to show anyone else.

“Can I have my phone and computer?” he asks, already suspecting what the answer will be.

“No you may not. This is supposed to be a punishment, after all.”

Arthur stares at his father, amazed by the way he makes it sound as though this is a perfectly normal reprimand, akin to being grounded or having his pocket money suspended.

Perhaps his father really has lost touch with reality.

“I’ll get your dinner,” Uther says and he strides out the room. When he returns, Arthur has no choice but to let him feed him even though he hates being so reliant on his father.

On the other hand, he suspects this is exactly what Uther wants. His son completely helpless and dependant on him, unable to step out of line. 

After dinner, Uther helps him to the bathroom down the hall. He notices that the phone that usually sits on the hall table has been removed, no doubt to prevent him from using it.

The sad thing is, Arthur has no idea who he would call anyway.

Uther gets him back into bed and then shakes out two more pills from the bottle on the side.

“Time for your painkillers.”

Arthur looks his father in the eye.

“They’re not painkillers. They’re sleeping tablets.”

Uther looks more irritated than ashamed at being caught out.

“You can’t feel pain when you’re asleep, ergo they’re painkillers.”

“I’m not taking them,” Arthur says.

“You will take them or I will make you,” Uther says calmly.

Arthur doesn’t respond. There’s silence for a moment, then Uther makes a sudden violent movement towards him and he flinches back, fear flooding through him.

“I’ll take them!” he quickly gasps out.

Uther watches him as he swallows them down, then makes Arthur open his mouth to check they’re gone.

He stalks out of the room without so much as a goodnight, snapping the light off and leaving Arthur in the dark.

Arthur waits till the footsteps have receded down the hall before he gives in and starts to cry. He hears Merlin’s voice in his head, quiet and hurt. He must feel so betrayed. Merlin will never speak to him again.

He’s lost his best thing and he doesn’t know what to do.

He lies in the darkness, tears dripping onto the pillow, overwhelmed by misery. When the pills finally kick in and the familiar tide of drowsiness washes over him, he's almost grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am considering the next chapter to be from Merlin's perspective but would that be totally jarring and ruin everything? This fic was meant to be all told from Arthur's POV but I was just wondering? Maybe let me know if you have strong feelings one way or the other :)


	10. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break! I had to get my other story done and dusted but now all of my attention is on this baby. So much gratitude to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this fic, you're all bloody great.
> 
> All the usual warnings for this chapter, maybe a tad more bad language than usual. Am sticking with Arthur's POV due to your feedback, but am going to take Jules' and jjss' suggestions and write a one shot from Merlin's perspective after this fic is finished :)

The next few days, a routine sets in. Uther brings him his breakfast and fresh clothes and then goes out to work, leaving his lunch on the side table. Then he returns in the evening with his dinner. Sometimes he lets Arthur take a shower afterwards, giving him cellophane to wrap over his arm and fingers so as not to wet the bindings. 

Arthur’s well enough to stand up and walk on his own now, but he rarely bothers because there’s nowhere to go in his tiny room. He spends most of the day lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The worst part is that Uther insists on keeping him locked up when he’s out at work, so that he can’t go to the bathroom. Uther leaves him an honest to God old fashioned porcelain chamber pot (a family heirloom, apparently) which Arthur finds beyond humiliating. He asks his father if he can be moved to the guest room with the en-suite, already knowing the answer will be no. Uther sneers at him, accusing him of acting like a girl. He adds that if Arthur is uncomfortable, he brought it all on himself so maybe he should stop complaining. Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from protesting the unfairness of it all.

Uther also brings him his school textbooks to revise with. It’s hard to concentrate. He gets tired very easily and often wakes up with a book still open in his hand. Then there’s the dull ache of his injuries, throbbing almost continually. Uther gives him two paracetamol twice a day, but nothing stronger. It’s cold comfort but he takes it anyway, chasing the placebo effect if nothing else.

Aredian shows up at some point to check on Arthur’s progression. Arthur refuses to look at him throughout the examination, answering his questions in monosyllables. He doubts Aredian notices, or even cares. He inspects Arthur’s injuries with a detached, impersonal air; as though Arthur’s just another patient and not someone he’s known since Arthur was a little boy. 

The whole experience makes bile rise in Arthur’s throat. He’s utterly sickened by this man, who took a Hippocratic Oath to protect his patients yet seems untroubled by the obvious evidence of abuse in front of his eyes. What happens the day Uther finally goes too far and kills him? Will Aredian come round and help bury the body?

It’s only a stray thought, born from the bitterness of Aredian’s visit, but Arthur finds it lingers long after the man has gone.

What if Uther really did kill him?

Not intentionally, even he knows his father doesn’t want that. But some days his rage is so uncontained, so wild and dangerous… all it would take is one particularly hard blow to the head, one push near a staircase…

The thoughts terrify Arthur but he can’t seem to push them out of his head. It’s not likely but it is… possible. He has over another year left living at home, who knows what could happen in that amount of time? Uther’s behaviour on Friday was a clear escalation from what came before. Could it be a sign of worse to come?

He spends three days worrying over it before he comes to his decision. This can’t go on anymore. He has to tell someone. He has to get away from his father before it’s too late.

He needs to go to the police. If he runs, Uther will find him. He needs Uther to be behind bars, or at least for the police to be aware his father poses a threat to him. They’d have to protect him, right?

He’ll need somewhere else to live too. But he doubts anyone will want to take him in. He’s a danger to Merlin and his mother now that Uther has them in his sights, he can’t go there. Morgana’s not scared of Uther, but he’s sure her sister wouldn’t want him living with them. He hardly knows his uncle, or any of his other relatives.

Still he’s seventeen, so technically he can move into somewhere on his own. Social services will have to help him. He doesn’t care if he ends up in some fleapit room in a hostel; it has to be better than here.

There’s one problem. He’s trapped for the next two weeks.

Arthur knows if he waits until the Easter holidays are over, he’ll be mostly healed. There’ll be no evidence. Only his word, alongside the scars on his back. But they could have come from anywhere. If he goes to the police and they don’t believe him, they’ll deliver him right back into Uther’s hands and he’ll surely never get another chance.

So he needs to get out. As soon as possible, while Uther’s violence is still written all over his body.

Arthur tries his best to plan, abandoning his revision to think of ways to escape. The cleaning lady is meant to come on Wednesday and Arthur decides to wait until she reaches the third floor and then shout for her help. She might have a key to the door, or if not, she can call the police herself after he explains that he’s locked in.

But Wednesday rolls around and she never shows up. Arthur guesses Uther must have given her the day off for this exact reason. 

One plan down. He regroups. Arthur notes that when Uther enters the room he tends to slip the door key into his trouser pocket. Is there a way of stealing it from there?

But that would require him getting very close to Uther indeed, and he can’t think of a way it wouldn’t look suspicious. It’s not as though they’re a hugging family.

He puts that plan on the back burner for now, in case inspiration strikes, and concentrates on the window. As he noticed on first inspection, it appears to be heavily painted into place. He tries lifting it several times but the pain it causes in his injured hand and broken arm is excruciating. So he decides to focus his efforts on dislodging the paint instead.

There’s nothing he can use within the room, so he takes the hard plastic cover off one of his textbooks and tears a piece off it, which he then folds up into a kind of point. It’s hardly a blade but it manages to make some indentation in the paint work, so he patiently picks away at it every day. He manages to keep his progress hidden from Uther by keeping the curtains drawn, claiming the light hurts his eyes.

When Uther’s at work, he draws the curtain and heaves himself up to sit by the window and work on the paint, keeping an eye out for passers-by that he could attract the attention of. But the window looks out onto the back of the house and no-one has cause to be round there other than the gardener that comes once a week. If Uther hasn’t cancelled him like he did the cleaner, he should be coming on Sunday, so that’s a third plan Arthur tucks away in his mind.

The final plan is Morgana. While their relationship hasn’t been close in a long time, Morgana still makes the effort to see Arthur at least a few times a year, usually during the holidays. Morgana had emailed him last week saying she would be in town for the coming weekend and could they meet? He’d sent a response in the affirmative, asking her to contact him with more details. And then the cellar happened and he hadn’t seen his laptop or his phone since.

But Morgana still knows they were supposed to meet, would hopefully suspect something was wrong due to his sudden lack of contact. She might come to the house; maybe raise the alarm when she can’t find him…

This plan isn’t as fool proof as it sounds. Their relationship has been strained for a long time and Morgana might just take this as him trying to get out of the reunion. Or, even if she did suspect, it’s not like her or Uther were on the greatest terms. It wasn’t as though she could just waltz into the house and Uther’d be all “Arthur’s right upstairs, feel free to go and get him while I meekly turn myself in to the police.”

Also, Uther has his phone. There’s no chance he isn’t reading his text messages; probably deleting all the ones from Merlin he can find. If Morgana did text to confirm, Uther could have simply replied with some excuse as to why he couldn’t come, purportedly from Arthur.

He holds onto the glimmer of hope though. Morgana prefers email to text and Arthur’s email is password protected, Uther can’t go snooping around there. There’s a chance…

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

On Friday, Arthur is working on the window as usual. Frustratingly, he’s a long way from finished, and he has to take regular breaks to ease the pain in his hand. 

It’s during one of these breaks that the doorbell suddenly rings. He jumps as it sounds through the silent house, instantly on alert. Is it Morgana? The email said she’d arrive on Friday. Has she come for him?

The hope that thought generates is quickly shattered by the fact that he can’t open the door to her, or even signal to her in any way. The bell rings again and he grits his teeth in anguish. 

The bell rings once more and stops and he turns back to the window with a sigh. 

It’s not like there’s any proof it was Morgana anyway. More likely some door to door salesman, or a Jehovah’s Witness. 

He picks up his pointed plastic but can’t quite find the energy to start picking again. He gazes out of the window instead and starts in shock as a figure appears in the garden.

It’s not a door to door salesman. It’s not even Morgana.

It’s Merlin.

He’s looking round the garden and Arthur realises with a jolt that he must be looking for him.

Even after he dumped him, and cut all contact with him, Merlin’s still come to look for him.

Without thinking about it, he bangs on the glass with all his might and then cries out as pain floods up his arms. He tries it again, more carefully, but it still hurts and it hasn’t attracted Merlin’s attention.

He looks around the room desperately for something to hit the window with, but there’s nothing but textbooks. He grabs his hardback Business Studies guide and smacks it against the window, but Merlin still doesn’t look up. He’s three storeys up and the window is thick, the sound’s not getting through. He tries to smash through the window instead with the edge of the book, but the glass must be reinforced. So he’s reduced to banging as hard as he can on the pane, watching in misery as Merlin eventually walks away.

He’s crying now, so overwrought by his efforts and discouraged by his failure that can’t help the tears coming. It didn’t work, which means there’s no hope for communicating with the gardener either. And it’s Friday so Morgana is in town but she hasn’t come for him. And he can’t even chip the paint from this stupid fucking window.

His plans are useless. All he can do is stay in here till Uther lets him out, and spend the next year and a bit doing what his father says. Tiptoeing around and hoping the day never comes that his father does him some permanent damage.

He drops the textbook and curls up on the bed, tugging the duvet around him. He’s not going to revise, or try to stay awake and plan. He’s not going to think about Merlin or his friends or any of the good things in his life before they’re lost to him now.

He’s going to sleep because that’s the only escape he has left. 

 

When Uther arrives with his dinner that night, Arthur rolls on his side, refusing to sit up. After a few threats Uther hauls him into an upright position, shoving the tray on his lap. When Arthur makes no move to pick up the utensils, Uther grabs a fork and sticks it into a bit of stew, forcing it towards Arthur’s mouth. Arthur turns his head away.

Uther slaps him but Arthur barely notices. It feels like his father is very far away to him now. When Uther grabs his jaw and forces his mouth open, he complies. But when Uther’s gotten a spoonful of stew inside, he simply opens his mouth and lets it fall down his front.

He can see Uther’s eyes narrow in rage but he doesn’t flinch when Uther throws the entire bowl of stew in his face. It’s hot and it stings horribly but Arthur doesn’t react. He stays there, letting it drip down his face, wondering what he looks like right now.

Probably hilarious. A bubble of laughter rises unbidden in his throat and before he knows it he’s giggling like mad. Uther looks both comically enraged and also slightly unnerved and that only makes him laugh harder as bits of stew slide off his chin.

Uther slaps him again but he doesn’t feel it. He continues to laugh until Uther backs out of the room, and doesn’t stop even when his father returns with the bottle of sleeping pills.

He only stops when Uther pinches his nose shut and that’s because he can’t breathe and laugh at the same time. Uther shoves the pills into his mouth and then clamps his hand over it, forcing Arthur to swallow. He does and Uther releases him, standing there in front of Arthur until he finally sinks into unconscious. 

 

When he wakes up, his face is clean and the bed clothes have been changed. Arthur wonders why Uther didn’t just leave him to lie in it, but he remembers the slight look of fear in Uther’s eyes when he was laughing. Uther hates anything that could be construed as madness. His own mother suffered extreme periods of mental illness, and Arthur knows it still scares his father. Whenever Morgana would have a nightmare when they were younger, it would panic Uther. He brought doctor after doctor in, fearing psychosis even as they reassured him it was perfectly normal to suffer nightmares.

Good, Arthur thinks. Let Uther be afraid.

But the hazy, disconnected feeling he had the night before has vanished. He’s back in the here and now, whether he likes it or not.

He eats his breakfast obediently, mindful of the way Uther watches him with a touch of apprehension in his gaze. He’s grateful for that lingering fear, it means he won’t be punished for yesterday. Uther must have concluded he wasn’t in his right mind.

But it’s his father who isn’t in his right mind, he thinks bitterly. 

Just as he’s finished and Uther is escorting him to the bathroom along the hall, they both hear it. A hammering on the door, and then a voice ringing out, clear as a bell even three storeys up.

“Arthur? Are you in there? Arthur?”

It’s Morgana.

Hope floods Arthur’s chest and he opens his mouth to yell but Uther’s too quick for him, shoving his hand over Arthur’s mouth and dragging him back to the bedroom. He shoves Arthur on the bed and then exits, locking the door behind him.

Arthur hears him descending the stairs, then the door opening.

He presses his ear to the door but he can just about make out Uther’s voice, cool and collected.

“… not here. So I’ll thank you to… making a fuss… neighbours can hear…”

Morgana’s voice carries much better.

“Where is he?”

“… football camp… good friend Leon…”

“You’re lying,” Morgana shouts. “I spoke to Leon, I spoke to all his friends, no-one’s seen him all week!”

“… hysterical… not welcome in this house… call the police if I see you in…”

“Call the police then! Save me the bother of doing it myself!” Morgana all but screams and Arthur’s heart catches in his throat.

 _Please call the police. Please._

“...get off my… have you arrested,” Uther spits and then there’s the sound of door slamming.

Moments later he hears footsteps on the stairs and quickly drags himself to sit on the bed as though he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

Uther bursts through the door.

“Get dressed,” he says without ceremony. “We’re going for a drive.”

“What?” Arthur says.

“No questions. Dress now.”

Arthur stares at his father for a while.

“I don’t want to go.”

The backhand to the face is sudden and brutal. Arthur drops to the floor, feeling blood trickle from his already damaged nose.

“It’s not a fucking negotiation,” Uther snarls. “Get up, now.”

Without waiting for a response, he leans down and yanks Arthur to his feet. Arthur yelps at the pressure on his broken arm, and tries to dig his heels in.

If he can just hang on a little while, if the police are coming…

But Uther’s apparently had the same thought because he wraps his arms around Arthur and begins to drag him bodily from the room.

Arthur struggles as best he can but he’s weak from his injuries and days of lying in bed. Uther manages to manoeuvre him down the stairs and to the ground floor, where he throws him on the ground in the kitchen. Arthur’s whole body is protesting at this point, he tries to get up to make a run for it but he can only crawl a few paces. Uther finishes ransacking a drawer and looms over him, duct tape in his hands. He pulls Arthur’s arms in front of him, ignoring his son’s scream of pain, and quickly tapes them together at the wrist, before doing the same to his feet. Then he reaches down and slaps tape over Arthur’s mouth, muffling his cries.

Arthur panics, aware of his complete lack of mobility. He can do nothing as Uther picks him up bridal style and carries him through the back door that leads to the garage, stopping in front of the black Porsche. Arthur expects to be thrown in the back seat, but Uther awkwardly manipulates his keys to unlock the boot instead.

Arthur’s panic increases tenfold and he tries to twist his body away as his father deposits him in the small, cramped space.

Then the boot slams shut and he can’t see anything. It’s like a nightmare and he frantically tries to loosen the bindings on his hands and feet. He has to force himself to calm down and breathe slowly because the tape over his mouth is restricting his air flow.

Is this really happening? Has his father really tied him up and slung him in a boot? 

He must have finally lost it.

Suddenly Arthur feels the vibrations as the engine starts, and hears the garage door open and the car move forward.

_This is it, his father’s taking him away; somewhere no-one will ever find him…_

Then he hears the sweetest sound in the world: police sirens.

There’s a squeal of tires and the car stops abruptly, presumably brought to a halt by a car blocking his way.

He hears voices, loud and close.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Uther says, sounding calm as ever.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a report of detainment of a minor at this address,” says the officer and Arthur is sickened to realise he sounds apologetic. “We’re going to have to search the premises, sir.”

“Of course,” Uther says, sighing deeply. “I’m afraid this is another one of my daughter’s delusions. It’s not the first time.”

“We’ll make it quick Mr Pendragon,” the officer says sympathetically and Arthur nearly cries. The officer knows who his father is, or he thinks he does. Upstanding businessman, pillar of the community. There’s no way he’ll take Morgana’s word over Uther’s.

He hears people walking away and the sounds of the house being entered. He’s pretty sure Morgana is there, he can hear her voice from time to time.

About fifteen minutes passes, with nothing happening. Arthur tries to stay calm and keep breathing steadily. It's so hot in the boot and he wants nothing more than to just shut his eyes for a minute, but he knows he can't.

Then the car dips slightly and he realises someone’s leaning against the boot.

“Nice ride,” a male voice says wistfully.

“More than your paycheck’s worth, Penhall,” a female voice replies.

“Yeah, I know, Jesus. I can barely pay off my Skoda,” the man says ruefully, and the woman laughs.

“We about done here?” she says.

“Yeah. Smithy’s talking with the guy now but it’s pretty obvious it’s just his whackjob daughter making shit up. Apparently the kid’s staying with a family friend. Some guy Aridan. Or Aredan or something, I dunno. He gave us the number to check it out.”

“I swear, rich families are always the most fucked up,” the woman says contemplatively. “You’re lucky with your piece of shit car Penhall, all this ain’t worth the hassle.”

Arthur’s not listening. His father’s done it again. Somehow, unbelievably, he’s done it again. And he’s got Aredian as an alibi, not that the police are gonna follow this up anyway because to them it’s clearly a foregone conclusion.

_No. It can’t happen this way._

Arthur tries to scream but the tape muffles him completely. He attempts to bang on the roof with his hands but he can’t reach far enough.

He kicks out with his bound legs and is rewarded with a dull thumping sound. He does it again. And again.

“Can you hear something?” the woman says.

“What?”

“That thumping. Listen,” she says.

Arthur kicks out again, ignoring the pain that the impact sends through his body.

“I think it’s coming from the boot.”

“Don’t be mental.”

“I’m serious. Penhall, there’s someone in there!”

“The kid?”

“Yeah, maybe. Go get his keys, we gotta take a look.”

“You’re joking, right? I’m just gonna waltz up to the richest man in town and tell him I think he’s stuffed his own son in the boot of his car.”

“Jesus!” the woman shouts and her footsteps walk away. Arthur hopes to God she’s going to get the keys because his energy is fast running out, he just wants to close his eyes and sleep…

There’s a commotion outside and he forces his eyes open.

“…no right, absolutely no right to demand this of me.”

Uther’s voice is commanding and loud.

“Tell your sergeant to stand down, please.”

There’s a pause and the voice of the original unctuous officer returns.

“Couldn’t we just take a quick look? Set everyone’s mind at ease?”

“Absolutely not!” Uther shouts.

There’s another long silence. Arthur summons all of his energy and kicks out one last time.

“There!” the female voice cries and suddenly there’s the sound of a scuffle, and voices clamouring to talk over each other.

It seems to Arthur that Uther might have tried to run but they’ve caught him. It uses up the last of his concentration and he finds himself drifting away, the voices becoming distorted…

Then a lock clicks and the boot is pulled open, daylight flooding into the enclosed space.

Arthur looks up at the shocked faces of three police officers staring at him, and finally passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comfort is finally here next chapter! No more bad stuff, I swear, from here on out Arthur's gonna be taken care of :)


	11. Awakenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the comfort begin! I'm afraid this chapter is still a little sad, because obviously Arthur wasn't going to just come out of all that and be totally fine, but happy days are coming...
> 
> Forgive me for messing up any medical/police details.

When he first wakes up, he doesn’t open his eyes. All that he can be certain of is that he’s lying in a bed, and he can’t bear to look around and confirm that he’s still in the tiny guest room on the third floor.

But his other senses are waking up too; his ears picking up a slow rhythmic beeping sound, his nose scenting a clean chemical smell in the air.

The feeling of a soft hand holding his own.

Arthur opens his eyes to see a hospital room; four white walls, a single chair, and his sister’s pale face hovering above him.

“Arthur?” she says. “How do you feel?”

Arthur opens his mouth to answer but finds his mouth too dry and parched to force the words out.

“You need water. I’ll get the nurse,” Morgana says, understanding his hesitation. She leaves the room and comes back in under a minute with a plump Asian nurse by her side.

“Hello dear, good to have you back with us,” the nurse says kindly, smiling at Arthur. She places a cup of water on the bedside table, complete with straw.

“Let’s get you sitting up, shall we?”

She helps him into a sitting position.

“Do you think you can hold the cup? Your fingers are healing quite nicely and the doctor recommends you start trying to move them round a bit.”

Arthur nods and takes the cup gingerly in his left hand. His fingers do feel less stiff and sore than before, although he suspects that might be down to whatever pain medication they have him on.

He drinks a few sips and then the nurse stops him, reminding him to take it slow.

“Are you in any pain Arthur?” the nurse asks.

“No,” he says, his voice still a little strained. 

“We’ve given you something to help with your injuries, but hopefully you’re over the worst of it by now anyway. The doctor should be in soon, I’m sure she’ll give you a more detailed breakdown.”

She smiles brightly.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” she says and then takes her leave.

Arthur stares after her for a moment. His brain feels sluggish, like he’s not quite with it. 

Are his memories correct? Did it all happen? The cellar and the imprisonment and the car boot?

It’s like there’s a mist in his brain and he can’t clear it.

He turns back to Morgana, hoping for clarification.

“What day is it?” he croaks.

“Monday,” she says. “You’ve been asleep. Well, you woke up for a bit in the night but they gave you more medicine and you were out again. They said you needed some uninterrupted rest.”

Her voice is very calm, but Arthur lived with her long enough to know that’s more of an indication that she’s on the edge than anything else.

“And did it all… with the car and…” Arthur doesn’t know how to finish this sentence without sounding incredibly stupid. But he has to know for sure, and luckily Morgana picks up on his meaning.

“Yes. Uther's in custody. They've arrested him and they're holding him."

Arthur doesn't know how to process that right now, but Morgana seems to understand that he wants further explanation on recent events.

"I don’t know if you heard when I came to the door-”

“I did,” Arthur says quickly and she nods.

“I rang the police right after and waited for them on the road. They got there just as Uther was trying to drive away, thank God. I was thinking I’d have to throw myself under the car to get him to stop.”

She takes a deep breath.

“Then they searched the house and of course you weren’t there. And I was panicking, because where the hell else could you be? And they wouldn’t let me look for myself, and I could tell they didn’t believe me, they were just humouring me, and Uther was being so fucking smooth and I thought that… but then this police woman came running over and said we had to open Uther’s boot and then… and then…”

Arthur looks straight at Morgana and is dismayed to see she’s crying.

“God, Arthur, I am so sorry. I am so… This is all my fault.”

“Your fault?” he repeats slowly.

“I never should have left you with him. I should have taken you with me. None of this would have ever happened…”

At the sight of Morgana’s tear stained face, the fog in his head dissipates a little. He’s not sure of much right now but he knows enough to know that-

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. How could you have known? He wasn’t-” Arthur swallows. “He wasn’t always… like this.”

“But I left you!” Morgana looks distraught. “And you’re my… you’re my little brother.”

Arthur almost smiles to hear her say that, something she hasn’t said in years.

“It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. “You came for me when it counted. You saved me.”

Morgana nods, a hitch in her breath as she tries to stop sobbing. She rubs his hand gently and they stay like that for a while, until Arthur deems her collected enough to ask how she knew something was wrong.

Morgana tells him, stumbling a little over the words. How she thought it was odd that he never replied to her emails. So much so that she eventually sent a Facebook message to Merlin to ask if Arthur’s laptop was broken or something.

When Merlin replied with a short message saying that he wouldn’t know because Arthur no longer wanted anything to do with him, Morgana thought it didn’t add up. She asked why, and after a bit of prodding, Merlin told her about the phone call.

“It just didn’t sound like you at all Arthur,” Morgana says, shaking her head. “And I just had this weird feeling, like something bad was going on.”

So she had messaged the rest of his friends, and none of them had seen Arthur. Both Gwaine and Lance had mentioned plans they’d had with him that Arthur hadn’t showed up to, and everyone said he hadn’t been replying to their texts. So Morgana rang the house, and asked to speak to Arthur. Uther curtly informed her that Arthur was away with a school friend called Leon, and hung up the phone. 

“So I double checked with Leon that you weren’t with him and then I drove straight here and rang the doorbell and… well, you know the rest.”

Her eyes are wide and bright.

“And then… then they got you out of that boot and I saw you and I thought you were dead-”

Tears begin to slide down Morgana’s face again and Arthur tries to move his thumb to stroke her hand a little.

He doesn’t feel like crying himself; perhaps the numbing effect of the pain medication, or the fact that his mind is still hazy. He suspects his own emotional reaction will come later. But hearing the story of his rescue has left him one very strong feeling: that of gratitude.

“Thank you for getting me out,” he says.

Morgana sniffles and nods.

“Least I could do,” she says, then makes a concerted effort to compose herself.

“Okay. I’m gonna see if I can find the doctor to come talk to you.”

She walks to the door and then pauses.

“I won’t ask any more questions now; I don’t want to overwhelm you. But Arthur, I just have to know one thing… has this been going on a while?”

He doesn’t know what to say, and that’s answer enough. The misery in her eyes is painful to look at, and he turns away.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

Morgana stays for the rest of the day but they don’t talk about anything serious, just hospital food and Morgana’s degree and Morgause’s job. Arthur tires quickly and after the doctor comes to update him on his condition in the evening, she recommends he goes to sleep. Morgana wants to stay but he persuades her to go home and get some rest, she’s been sat at his bedside for over two days now. She promises to return the next day. 

The only time they touch on anything to do with the past week is when Arthur asks why it was Merlin that Morgana chose to contact first.

She gives him a wry smile, the first time she’s smiled since he woke up.

“I may only see you four or five times a year but I know who’s important to you.”

Arthur nods, unsure of whether to say more.

“He is important to me.”

He makes up his mind.

“In fact, Merlin’s my boyfriend.”

Morgana smiles wide, a look in her eyes suggesting she’s not surprised at all.

But then Arthur remembers.

“Or he might not be my boyfriend anymore,” he mutters.

“The phone call?” Morgana guesses immediately.

“Uther made me,” Arthur says quietly. “He was so hurt… and now I don’t know if-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Morgana says firmly. “He was so worried when he thought something might be wrong, even after the phone call.”

Arthur remembers Merlin coming to the house, searching the back garden.

“I wanted to wait and let you contact your friends when you’d woken up, so you could make the decision what to tell them. But I think you should call Merlin now.”

Arthur freezes.

“I… I can’t.”

He can’t handle being rejected, not right now.

“I could call him?” Morgana asks.

“I don’t know. Can we… can I decide later?”

Morgana nods, but as it happens they don’t talk about it again before she leaves.

 

_________________________________________________________________

 

Arthur’s sleep is deep and nightmare free and when he wakes up to someone holding his hand again, he smiles to think Morgana made it back so early.

But it’s not Morgana.

“Merlin?” he rasps out.

He must have startled him because Merlin jumps in his seat, turning to Arthur with wide eyes.

“You’re awake! Oh my God, you’re awake! Arthur, are you okay? Do you need anything? Do you want the nurse?”

Arthur shakes his head, overwhelmed by simply seeing Merlin again. He drinks him in; noting the dark shadows under Merlin’s eyes, the messy hair that Merlin’s been running his fingers through, the paleness of his skin.

“You’re here,” he says simply and Merlin bursts into tears. But it’s not like with Morgana yesterday, nothing’s clouding his senses anymore and the sight of Merlin crying is almost too much to bear.

“I didn’t know,” Merlin weeps. “I should have come round sooner; I should have known something was wrong…”

His hands are trembling and it tears at Arthur’s heart.

“I was so mad at you… and then Morgana messaged me, but I still didn’t think… And then she rang me last night and… oh God, I was so scared.”

“Please don’t cry,” Arthur says, trying to sit up, trying to reach out to Merlin. “You couldn’t have known, please stop crying Merlin, I can’t stand it...”

The desperation in Arthur’s voice must have gotten through to Merlin because he draws a deep breath and attempts to calm down.

“Help me sit up?” Arthur says quietly after a minute and Merlin immediately obliges, gently pulling Arthur up and rearranging the pillows at his back.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he says anxiously.

“No, it’s not that bad,” Arthur says truthfully. 

He pauses, wanting to ask something but not knowing how.

He doesn’t know how Merlin feels but he’s here and that’s a good sign. So…

“In fact, you could hug me, if you wanted?” Arthur suggests tentatively. 

There’s a pause and then Merlin practically falls into his arms, burying his face in Arthur’s neck, lightly wrapping his arms around Arthur’s middle.

Arthur inhales Merlin’s vanilla scent and is almost struck dumb with relief. He didn’t know if he’d ever get to hold him like this again.

Merlin is crying again, Arthur can feel the tears running down his neck, and he hugs him closer.

They stay like that for a long time, and when finally part, they keep hold of each other’s hands.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Merlin says, his voice thick with emotion.

Arthur nods, and then tenses, nervous.

“Before we say anything else, I just have to… that phone call. I didn’t want to, Merlin, my dad made me, I never wanted to say any of those things, please believe me, I didn’t mean any of it-”

Merlin cuts off his rambling.

“I know, it’s okay. I should have known it wasn’t you. You didn’t sound like yourself… God, I should have just called the police then.”

He looks anguished and Arthur smiles a little.

“And told them what? My boyfriend just broke up with me, do something about it?”

Merlin laughs in spite of himself.

“Maybe not.”

Arthur looks down at the duvet, nervous again.

“So, if you still want to be… I mean, if you wanted to go out again-”

Merlin cuts him off again, this time with a kiss. It’s tender and brief, and says much more than words could.

 

______________________________________________________________________

 

Merlin’s still there when the police show up. Arthur’s been expecting them to come and take his statement but he isn’t looking forward to it.

“Can my boyfriend Merlin stay with me?” Arthur says, a warm tingle running through him when he says the word boyfriend aloud.

_No more hiding._

“Of course,” one of the two officers says, the one who introduced herself as Sergeant Adeyemi. “Whatever makes you comfortable. We know this isn’t the easiest conversation to have, and I promise we’ll try and make it as brief as possible.”

Merlin gives Arthur’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’d like to run through the timeline of events from when you came home from school on Friday the 12th.”

Arthur nods, licking his dry lips slightly.

“Okay. Er, I came home about six, I think, and Uther… my dad… was waiting for me. He took me down to the cellar. He was angry because, erm, he’d seen me and Merlin kissing near our house.”

He feels Merlin tense beside him, and realises that Merlin hadn’t known why his dad attacked him till now.

“We argued. Then I tried to leave and he, uh, punched me. In the face. And then he kicked me a few times. Then he stood on my… no wait, then he wanted to know… he was asking me something, and he pushed my arm up behind my back and it broke. And that’s when he stood on my other hand. Then I passed out. Or he might have hit my head, I can’t really remember.”

Arthur is proud of himself for relating the tale in a fairly steady voice, but then he looks down and realises his whole body is trembling. He’s managing to keep his mind on only the bare facts, no emotions, but his body remembers what happened, is reliving it.

He sneaks a glance at Merlin and sees that his boyfriend looks absolutely horrified, tears forming in his eyes. He feels Arthur’s gaze and immediately blinks them away, his face softening in concern.

“Do you need to take a break Arthur?” Adeyemi says.

“I… no, it’s fine. Could I have some water?”

When the police officer passes the cup, Merlin holds it up to his mouth for him.

He’s too shaky to feel embarrassed, and there’s only love in Merlin’s eyes, so he leans forwards and drinks from the straw.

“Okay,” he says after a minute.

“Okay. You’re doing great so far Arthur. What happened after that?”

“Erm, I woke up in one of the guest bedrooms. I think it was Sunday. And someone had bandaged me up. So I asked who and Uther said it was Aredian.”

“Who, sorry?” Adeyemi said.

“Dr Aredian. I think his first name’s Michael? He works at Elm Tree Clinic downtown, it’s a private practice.”

“So you know this doctor?”

“Yeah, he’s one of my dad’s oldest friends.”

“And do you know if he was aware of how you came by your injuries?”

“Yeah, he was,” Arthur says bitterly and hears Merlin stifle a gasp of outrage.

“Thank you,” Adeyemi says, scribbling away. “A-R-E-D-I-A-N, is that right?” 

Arthur nods.

“Then Uther gave me some soup and some sleeping pills. Then the next time I woke up he said it was Monday. And he brought my phone in.”

Arthur stops talking and looks at Merlin, not wanting to relive this bit. Merlin nods gently at him.

“He made me call Merlin and tell him the relationship was over,” Arthur says shortly, not wanting to provide any more details. “I tried to say no but…”

Should Arthur say this next bit? It’s not something he really wants Merlin to hear, but the police should know how corrupt Uther really is…

“He said if I didn’t do it, he’d tell the school board that Merlin’s mum had been abusing me as the school nurse.”

Merlin doesn’t stifle his gasp this time and Arthur turns to him immediately.

“I’m so sorry, he’s sick, he’s disgusting, I’m so sorry Merlin…”

Merlin shushes him instantly.

“It’s not your fault, love.”

Arthur bites his lip and nods, still feeling horribly guilty for the repellent lie Uther had created.

“So I did. Then he said I was locked in till the end of Easter, and he made me take more sleeping tablets.”

“So he was keeping you locked in the room?”

“Yeah, he had the only key.”

“Okay. Were you ever allowed out?”

“Only to use the bathroom. He brought meals and things in. It was like that the whole week except for when Aredian came again to check me over.”

“Was your father physically violent to you at any point after the initial beating?”

“I didn’t want to eat dinner at one point and he slapped me a couple of times, threw the bowl at me.” 

He can feel rather than see Merlin wince at that, but his hand stays steady on Arthur’s.

“But nothing really happened until Saturday.”

Arthur pauses.

“Can you tell us about Saturday, Arthur?”

“I heard Morgana at the door in the morning. She was threatening to call the police. Uther shut the door and came back up. He said I had to get dressed because we were leaving. I didn’t want to go so he hit me and dragged me downstairs.”

Arthur stops again. It’s getting harder to stay unemotional, to just tell the facts of the story. He viscerally remembers being thrown to the floor in the kitchen, his body aching. Trying to crawl away and then being bound. 

“He tied me up with duct tape and put me in the boot of his car,” Arthur says shakily, attempting to breathe evenly.

He can almost feel the walls around him, the oppressive heat and darkness, the realisation that his father was taking him away and no-one could stop him. 

“Then the police were there and I kicked the boot and they heard me and let me out,” Arthur finishes in a rush. “And that’s it.”

Sensing Arthur’s distress, Merlin lifts the water cup again and helps him take a sip. Then he reaches out with the hand that isn’t holding Arthur’s and begins rubbing his leg in reassurance.

Arthur tries to relax back into his pillows, reminding himself that he got away, he’s here, and he’s safe.

“Great, Arthur, that’s really helpful. We’re nearly done now; I’d just like to ask you a couple more questions okay?”

Arthur wants to say no, but he’ll have to do it eventually, may as well get it over with now.

“Okay.”

“Alright. Was the incident on Friday the first time your father had been physically violent to you?”

_Oh._

They wanted to know it all.

Arthur wants to ask Merlin to leave the room. All this is too much; he doesn’t want Merlin to hear the full story yet.

But if not now, when? It couldn’t be a secret anymore. He glances over at Merlin, still rubbing his leg in soothing circles.

Merlin hadn’t run yet. And Arthur is tired of hiding everything. It’s time.

“No,” Arthur says. “It’s been going on since I was fourteen.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath beside him but he doesn’t look at Merlin, he needs to finish this before he loses his nerve.

“And how often would your father be violent towards you?”

Arthur squints.

“Maybe once or twice a week. It wasn’t… sometimes he wouldn’t do it for ages, and then it’d be every day…”

Adeyemi starts to ask something else and Arthur interrupts.

“It’s not like… they were punishments. Like for breaking curfew or doing badly in school. It wasn’t just random.”

He’s not sure exactly what point he’s making but he ploughs on.

“And he didn’t always hit me. Sometimes it was just…”

“Just what?” the officer gently prompts.

“Just regular punishments. Like having to sleep in the cellar. Or out in the garden.”

He meets Merlin’s eyes as he says it, and his boyfriend looks very sad.

“Okay Arthur, I’m going to ask you just one or two more questions on this topic, and I just want to remind you that we can stop at any time if it gets too much for you.”

Arthur nods.

“Did your father ever use anything other than his bare hands to hurt you?”

“A walking stick,” Arthur says, feeling sick. “Sometimes his belt. Once a cricket bat.”

Merlin's hand tightens on Arthur’s for a moment.

“Did he ever use any kind of weapon?”

“He threatened me with a knife, once,” Arthur whispers. “But he didn’t use it.”

That had been for talking back. Uther had held the bread knife right in front of his eyes, forcing Arthur to look at it. 

“Keep pushing me, Arthur,” he had hissed, “and I will make you regret it.” 

Arthur’s shaking again and he doesn’t think he can stop this time.

Adeyemi notices.

“Last question and we’ll let you get some rest. Did your father ever make or threaten to make an attempt on your life?”

“No,” Arthur says distinctly. Whatever he had feared back in the guest room, his father had never actually done that.

“Thank you very much Arthur, you’ve been very helpful. You might need to go over some of these details with us again, but that won’t be for a while now. You get well soon, okay?”

Adeyemi shoots him one last sympathetic look as she and the other officer leave.

He’s right on the edge and when Merlin sighs his name beside him, he begins to cry.

He barely notices Merlin carefully shifting him along the bed, until his boyfriend is sat beside him, pulling Arthur’s head to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

He doesn’t tell Arthur to stop, just strokes his hair and whispers soothing words to him.

Arthur cries for all the memories. For the three years he spent afraid. For this last week, the worst one of his life. For the fact that he thought he’d lost Merlin. And for the fact that he has him back now.

It’s a long time before he can stop. When he does, Merlin wipes the tear tracks away with his fingers and kisses the top of Arthur’s head.

“You were so brave,” he murmurs. “You _are_ so brave.”

Arthur doesn’t feel brave. He feels like a child. He wants someone to take care of him. He leans into Merlin, breathing him in like he’s oxygen.

“Is it over?” he says weakly, wanting assurance in any form.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “He’ll never touch you again, I promise. And I’m never letting you out of my sight. I’m going to look after you.”

Arthur’s chest suddenly feels very tight, like it’s constricted.

“Why?” he whispers.

“Because I love you,” Merlin says, turning Arthur’s chin up to meet his gaze. “I love you so much.”

Warmth spreads through Arthur’s body, temporarily numbing all the pain.

It’s more than he had ever dared hope for.

“I love you too,” he says shyly and Merlin laughs.

“I should bloody hope so,” he says and he presses a kiss to Arthur’s lips. 

They sit for a while, then Merlin makes Arthur lie down.

“You’re still healing, you need to sleep.”

He makes to move off the bed, but Arthur reaches out.

“Can you stay?”

“Of course,” Merlin says, and he eases himself back down, curling into Arthur’s body. “I was only going to the chair, I wasn’t leaving.” 

Then, softly, just as Arthur’s drifting off to sleep:

“I’m never leaving you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for reading and reviewing and kudosing, it means so much! You guys are lovely and wonderful and there is totally a fluffy Merthur sex scene on its way in this fic for all of you :)


	12. Benediction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the long gap, I was on holiday. Only warning for this chapter is sex so fluffy it'll give you diabetes...

Arthur leaves hospital on a Wednesday, five days after he was admitted. The police didn’t return but someone came to take pictures of his injuries, including the scars on his back. Arthur is glad that Merlin wasn’t in the room at the time; he’s not quite ready to cross that bridge yet.

Morgana tells Arthur that Uther was denied bail. The judge had deemed him a possible threat to Arthur’s safety. Arthur feels a numb kind of relief at the news. He’s already had two horribly vivid nightmares about Uther showing up to drag him from the hospital and finish what he started; and it’s comforting to know that’s not a possibility. Other than that, he doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that Uther’s locked up in prison so he pushes it out of his mind.

Arthur’s living situation has also been decided. Morgana was initially adamant that Arthur should come to live with her and Morgause, but Arthur wants to stay at his current school. He also hates the idea of being separated from Merlin, which he thinks Morgana understands because she then suggests that she come and live with Arthur at Uther’s house. However, she still has a month of lectures and then exams to think of and Arthur persuades her that the commute would be too disruptive. But Morgana’s loath to leave Arthur in the house by himself and Arthur has to admit he’s less than keen on the idea himself.

It’s Merlin who comes to the rescue, suggesting that Arthur move into his house until Morgana has finished her exams and can come home for the summer. Morgana’s unsure until she meets Hunith, who successfully allays any fears with her reassuring presence. The hospital also fully supports releasing Arthur into the care of a nurse.

All the discussion tires Arthur out, he can only feel glad he doesn’t have to go back to his house right away. He’s not sure he can look at the cellar or the kitchen, much less go to the third floor, without remembering all the things that were done to him. He knows he’ll have to face it at some point, but he can’t help but be relieved it won’t be too soon.

 

It’s a warm April morning when Hunith wheels Arthur out to the front of the hospital, Merlin talking animatedly by his side and Morgana rolling her eyes fondly. She likes Merlin, Arthur can tell, and it feels good to know that at least one family member approves of his boyfriend. They’re quite similar in many ways; they like the same kind of music, they love animals, and they’re both artists. Morgana is studying Fine Art at university and Merlin is fascinated.

“It sounds so cool! I’m almost certain I want to do Art. Except… I really like English Lit too. Do you think I could do joint honours? Oh, but then what about Maths? I bet they don’t let you do Maths and Art together. But that would be awesome.”

“Do you know what you’d like to study?” Hunith asks Arthur when Merlin takes a breath.

Arthur opens his mouth automatically to say ‘Business’ and then stops. That was what Uther said he had to do. But Uther’s not here to decide for him anymore.

“I like politics,” Arthur says uncertainly.

“Politics would be a great degree,” Hunith says approvingly and Arthur gives her a small smile.

Could he really do Politics? It is his choice now after all. But it seems almost too good to be true.

When they get to the car, Merlin insists on helping Arthur in, despite the fact that – as Arthur points out – his legs are working fine.

“Hush,” Merlin says. “I’m taking care of you because I’m incredibly nurturing. Hey, maybe I should study to be a nurse!”

“Have you forgotten the time Will showed you his ingrown toenail and you fainted?” Hunith says.

“Mum!” Merlin whines indignantly, and Arthur and Morgana laugh.

 

Morgana comes in for a cup of tea before she hits the road. Arthur’s persuaded her to go back to university for a bit; she’s on her Easter break too but she has work to complete. He doesn’t want her to fall behind on account of him.

When she leaves, she gives Arthur a careful hug – both because his arm is still sore and because it’s been a long time since they’ve touched each other freely.

“I’ll bring Morgause next time, she’d like to see you,” Morgana says.

“Really?” Arthur says, slightly sceptical.

“Yes! She never had a problem with you Arthur, I promise. And if she did, I’d kick her into touch. No-one messes with my baby brother.”

Arthur smiles at her and she squeezes his arm. If there’s one good thing about the terrible events of the recent weeks, Arthur thinks it’s that Morgana’s back in his life.

When he comes back in from seeing his sister off, Hunith’s setting up a futon and a duvet on Merlin’s bedroom floor. Arthur thanks her but she waves a hand at him.

“Don’t be silly Arthur; you’re taking the bed until you’re all better. Merlin’ll be fine on the floor.”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about me Mum,” Merlin says. “I’ll just find some hole to burrow into, shall I?”

Hunith taps her son lightly upside the head as she leaves.

“I can sleep on the floor, really, it’s fine,” Arthur says, embarrassed.

“I’m only joking, obviously you can have the bed. Course, that means you’ll get Rosco as well. He always sleeps on my pillow.”

As if on cue, Rosco saunters into the bedroom and heads straight for Arthur, meowing at his feet until Arthur bends to pick him up.

The movement makes him wince slightly, and he sees the flash of worry in Merlin’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly and Rosco enthusiastically head-butts his chest in agreement.

“Silly kitty,” Merlin says fondly, reaching out to scratch Rosco’s ears. “You think he’s cute now but wait till he climbs on your head in the middle of the night.”

“You won’t do that to me, will you Rosco?” Arthur says, and the cat purrs contentedly. “See, we have a gentleman’s agreement.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin says. “Now, do you wanna lie down or something?”

In truth Arthur is feeling tired, this is the longest he’s been up in days, but he doesn’t want to go to bed in the afternoon like some kind of invalid so he shakes his head.

He ends up falling asleep in front of the television anyway. He dreams of his father and it inevitably becomes a nightmare: Uther chasing him down to Merlin’s house, crazed beyond all reason. When Merlin shakes him awake for dinner he sits upright with a gasp, a wave of panic crashing over him before he sees his boyfriend’s face and remembers where he is.

“S-sorry,” he chokes out. “Nightmare. My f-father.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, just sits down beside him and rubs his back until Arthur’s breathing evens out.

 

It’s the first of many nightmares to come. Arthur doesn’t think either of them gets much sleep in that first month of him living there. Most nights, Merlin simply climbs into bed with Arthur, wrapping his arms around him until Arthur calms down enough to drift off. Merlin never complains about the nightmares but Arthur feels guilty. It’s part of the reason he takes up Morgana’s suggestion that he sees a therapist.

Morgana says it would be good for him to ‘let the anger out’ but the thing is, Arthur’s not angry. Not really, not in the way his sister and Merlin are.

Morgana’s had years of practice hating Uther, and there’s guilt mixed in there too when she curls her lip around her father’s name. Merlin’s fury is of righteous indignation; being so sweet natured himself, Arthur thinks he finds it hard to imagine that someone could do what Uther did. But Arthur doesn’t feel the same way.

“I know I should be angry,” Arthur says to his therapist, Andrew, in his second session.

“You don’t have to feel any particular way,” Andrew says. “Everyone processes events differently.”

“But Morgana and Merlin-”

“Are not you. There’s no right or wrong way to feel. Your emotions are your own.”

Arthur had been angry at various points over the last few years but now he just feels sad. It hadn’t all been bad with his father. He remembers Uther taking him go-karting for his seventeenth birthday. Or bringing him out to the country last year to practise driving in some empty fields. Or even a few months ago, when Uther had let him order in pizza and they’d watched a film together. There’d been love intermingled with all that pain and now Arthur just feels confused. He’s grateful that he’s not in danger anymore, and he’s beyond happy that Merlin still wants to be with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to feel glad that Uther’s behind bars.

He tries not to think about it, most days.

 

_________________________________________________________________

 

It’s about six weeks after Arthur moves in that the sex talk happens.

Hunith’s out for the day and Arthur and Merlin are taking advantage by lying on Merlin’s bed kissing, Rosco banished to sulk in the kitchen. They couldn’t do much when Arthur first came back from hospital for risk of exacerbating his injuries, but he’s healed now, and all that stands in their way is lack of time alone together. Which is why they’re keen to make Hunith’s rare absence count.

Arthur’s told Merlin the real reason he doesn’t want to take his shirt off, and Merlin’s been perfectly understanding about it. But Arthur’s been thinking a lot more recently about how his previous reluctance to go all the way with Merlin was due to fear of discovery. Now that there are no secrets between them, perhaps it’s time to take the next step?

Fearing he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t speak up now, Arthur breaks away from Merlin and voices his idea.

For a moment he’s worried he’s screwed up as Merlin seems totally nonplussed, but then a small grin curls across his face and he leans into the drawer next to his bed and brings out some lube and a packet of condoms.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he says straight-faced and Arthur laughs.

“I can tell you were a boy scout.”

Merlin grins again but then he looks solemn.

“Arthur, are you sure you’re ready? Because you know I can wait, don’t feel like you have to-”

“Shush,” Arthur says. “I’m ready if you are.”

“I’m ready,” Merlin says seriously. 

There’s a pause.

“Um,” Arthur says. “You know I’ve never…”

“Me neither,” Merlin says and they share a smile. Arthur was pretty sure Merlin would have told him if he’d already lost his virginity, but he’s glad to have it confirmed. The idea of Merlin with someone else would probably have driven him mad with jealousy.

Merlin sets the lube and a condom out on the bedside table and they both stare at them for a moment.

“So do you want to… or should I...”

It takes Arthur a second to understand what Merlin is asking.

“Oh! Er, I don’t know. Do you… do you have a preference?”

“I’d like to try it both ways,” Merlin says simply. “See if either of us likes one way better. What about you?”

“Yeah, I think… yeah.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, looking relieved. “We’re on the same page. We just need to decide which way first.”

Arthur thinks for a second, sensing Merlin wants him to be the one to make this decision.

“I’d…” He feels horribly shy all of a sudden but he makes himself say it: “I think I’d like you to top me.”

Merlin smiles wide.

“I can do that.”

Then he pulls Arthur into a gentle kiss and they fall back onto the bed together, lying side by side. They kiss for a minute, hands wandering over each other, then Merlin tugs off his own shirt. He automatically reaches out for the hem of Arthur’s, and then stops.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, awkwardly, retracting his hands. “Forgot.”

“No, wait,” Arthur says.

He’s not sure where it comes from, but perhaps it’s the realisation that he and Merlin are about to give themselves to each other fully, be completely exposed to one another. And he doesn’t want to do that while there are any secrets left between them.

Arthur sits up and reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt, hands trembling slightly.

“You don’t have to,” Merlin says quickly, as though he’s afraid Arthur’s responding to some unspoken pressure from him. 

Arthur’s swift to reassure him.

“I want to,” he says and then he pulls it off in one fluid motion.

There’s not much to see on his front, save the thin silver scar on his side. So Arthur steels himself, and turns around.

To Merlin’s credit, he doesn’t make a sound. Arthur was expecting a gasp or exclamation of some kind, at the very least an intake of breath, but Merlin is silent.

He can’t see his face and Arthur has no idea what he’s thinking. He can feel sweat dampening his forehead, his fists clenching tightly together of their own accord. Is Merlin repulsed? Is it too much to stomach? Has he made a terrible mistake in showing him?

The gentle touch of a hand brings him back to himself. Merlin strokes down his back, lightly caressing an expanse of skin that Arthur suddenly realises has remained untouched for over three years.

“Lie down for me,” Merlin says softly and Arthur complies, feeling somehow hazy and dreamlike.

He lies down on his front, head to one side on the pillow. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Merlin rise from the bed and leave the room. He returns before Arthur has time to worry, with what looks like a bottle of lotion in his hand.

He sheds his trousers and sits down next to Arthur on the bed.

“I’m gonna take your jeans off, okay?”

“Okay,” Arthur says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Merlin eases them down and discards them over the side of the bed, leaving them both in their boxers. He reaches out to stroke Arthur’s hand.

“Can I touch you?”

Mute, Arthur nods. He feels Merlin climb on top of him, so that he’s straddling Arthur’s lower back.

Merlin picks up the bottle and Arthur feels a squirt of cold lotion drop onto his back. Then Merlin begins to rub it in.

He takes his time, massaging it into every square inch of Arthur’s skin, paying special attention to the damaged bits. None of Arthur’s scars hurt anymore, but he’s still acutely aware of them, can feel it when Merlin works his fingers over each one. Merlin’s touch is immensely comforting; without speaking a single word, he seems to be massaging his own love and devotion into Arthur’s body. 

Merlin finally puts the lotion aside. Then, light as a feather, he presses his lips to each and every scar.

Tears are dripping down Arthur’s face and there’s nothing he can do, he feels like years of pain are working their way out of his body. Merlin’s kisses are a benediction; it seems like every one redeems him, makes his broken flesh whole and new again.

Then Merlin’s hands are on his side, gently turning him over to face him. He wipes at the tears on Arthur’s face.

“I read a book once where a boy ran into a burning house to save his friend.” Merlin’s voice is very quiet. “And he suffered burns on his arms and legs and it made him self-conscious. But his dad told him that you didn’t have to be a soldier to have battle scars. That there were all kinds of battles, and he should wear his burns with pride, like a soldier would.”

“But he saved his friend,” Arthur whispers. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“You survived,” Merlin says firmly. “That’s enough. You weren’t up against an enemy force or a fire or anything the world knows is a threat. It was someone you loved and that makes it harder. That makes you braver. You survived.”

Arthur’s eyes well up again and Merlin pulls him up and holds him in his arms. 

They cling to each other for a long time and then Arthur draws back to look at Merlin.

“Do you still want to…”

“Only if you do.”

Arthur answers that with a kiss, surging forward to claim Merlin’s lips with a new energy. The aftereffects of his emotional release have worn off; he feels strangely renewed and calm. He wants this. He’s ready.

Merlin smiles and pushes Arthur onto his back, climbing on top of him and peppering kisses down his neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So lovely.”

He trails kisses down Arthur’s chest, laving his tongue around his nipples until they stiffen and Arthur lets out a sigh. Merlin continues down to the waistband of Arthur’s boxers, and he draws them down teasingly, nuzzling against Arthur’s cock before pressing a kiss to its tip.

“Yours too,” Arthur gasps out and Merlin obligingly slips off his own underwear, pressing his hips down to grind their cocks together until they both moan. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever been completely naked together and Arthur drinks in the sight of his boyfriend, so wonderfully pale and lithe, his beautiful cock straining against Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur briefly wonders how he looks, whether Merlin can see any of his scars from here, and a flash of doubt must show on his face because Merlin leans in for another long kiss before whispering in his ear.

“You’re perfect. I love you.”

Warmth floods through his body and arousal snaps through him as Merlin presses down onto him again.

“Please… I want you to…”

Merlin understands instantly, reaching out for the lube on the bedside table and squirting some onto his fingers.

“Gonna open you up, okay love? Gonna reach inside you and make you ready for me.”

Merlin’s voice is soothing as his finger circles Arthur’s hole and then he eases the tip in.

It feels… odd. Intrusive, but not necessarily in a bad way. Merlin pushes the rest of the way in with his finger and Arthur lets out a little noise.

“Is it okay, love? Does it feel alright?”

Arthur nods, even though he’s not exactly sure how it feels. It’s definitely not unpleasant, just weird.

“Good. You’re so warm, you feel so good. I’m gonna try another finger, okay baby?”

The addition of a second finger burns slightly, not enough to be painful, but enough to notice. Merlin wiggles them around and Arthur feels a kind of odd swooping in his stomach, like when you go over a bump in the car. Again, it’s not unpleasant but it remains strange.

“Arthur? Let me just… I’m gonna try and-”

Merlin’s finger crooks up against something and Arthur feels a shiver run through his body.

“Was that-”

“Yeah, do that again. Please.”

Merin obliges and Arthur squirms, a hot wave of pleasure sweeping over him. It’s the swooping feeling amplified by a thousand, like nothing he’s felt before.

“Add another finger.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

It burns again but this time Arthur hardly feels it, chasing that sudden stimulus again.

Merlin’s other hand reaches out to stroke Arthur’s cock and he bucks up against it, his arousal amplified.

Another minute and Arthur’s practically shaking, it’s too much stimulation and he’s going to come right now if Merlin doesn’t act.

“Want-want you in me now,” he stutters out and Merlin carefully withdraws his fingers, leaving Arthur shivering at the loss.

“Are you sure?” Merlin whispers as he eases the condom onto his own straining erection and applies a generous amount of lube on top. “Are you prepared enough?”

“Yes,” Arthur says quickly. “Please Merlin.”

“Okay,” Merlin reaches in to kiss his lips. “I think it might be best if you turn over or-”

“No,” Arthur says immediately. “Like this.”

He doesn’t have to say ‘so I can look you in the eyes’ but Merlin gets it anyway and his face softens.

“Okay, but you have to tell me if it hurts or you want to stop. Promise me, Arthur.” 

Arthur nods. He’s nervous but arousal is still thrumming through him, every nerve in his body dancing. He wants this. He wants it now.

Merlin gently bends Arthur’s knees and lines himself up and Arthur can feel him, he’s so close, he hums with need.

Then Merlin’s pushing in slowly.

It hurts more than he anticipated. A kind of dull ache, like something being forced apart unnaturally.

He must have grimaced in pain because Merlin instantly stills.

“Arthur? Is it okay? Should I pull out?”

“No,” Arthur gasps. “Please, carry on.”

Merlin looks worried but he presses forward, slowly and gently, until he’s fully seated. He stops moving, giving Arthur time to get used to it. The pain recedes, gradually.

“Better,” Arthur says and Merlin looks slightly happier. 

“Do you want me to move or-”

“Yeah.”

Arthur braces himself as Merlin slides out and in again, but the slight ache is more bearable and Arthur’s beginning to feel a tingling inside himself. Merlin begins to set a slow pace, timing his thrusts with his strokes to Arthur’s cock. For a while the discomfort lingers even as his cock returns to full hardness, then the balance switches. Suddenly the feeling of Merlin inside of him becomes more and more pleasurable; the sensation of being filled up from the inside, the friction of the movement. Merlin shifts his angle slightly and brushes up against that sweet spot again and Arthur lets out a whimper.

“There!”

“Yeah, is that it?” Merlin speeds up ever so slightly. “So good, you feel so amazing around me, love. So perfect.”

Once he’s got the angle, Merlin keeps successfully hitting that spot and Arthur’s getting closer to the edge, he hardly registers the ache anymore, his mind is full of Merlin and his hand stroking him and his cock inside him and-

Arthur’s back arches.

“Merlin, I’m gonna-gonna-”

Merlin gives his cock one last vigorous stroke and Arthur’s coming in a blaze of glory, lights bright behind his eyes as he finds his release.

Then Merlin’s thrusting even faster, gasping against Arthur’s skin before coming half a minute later with a shout. 

He collapses forward onto Arthur and they both lie panting for a while. 

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

They look at each other and grin, and then share a lingering kiss.

“You were amazing,” Merlin says, his eyes shining.

“No, you were,” Arthur mumbles, leaning forward to nuzzle Merlin’s neck. 

“I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” Merlin says and Arthur winces slightly as he does. But the pain is so distant now, he almost welcomes it as a friendly reminder of the monumental step they’ve taken. 

Merlin throws the condom away and lies down beside Arthur, resting his head on Arthur’s chest. Arthur plants a kiss in his hair, feeling happy and sleepy and boneless.

“We should clean up,” Merlin yawns.

“Nap first,” Arthur says, pulling his boyfriend closer.

“Mmkay,” Merlin says contentedly, snuggling into Arthur.

Arthur’s almost asleep when Merlin says.

“I can’t believe you’re really here. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

His voice is small and Arthur turns to face him.

“What do you mean? I’m the lucky one,” Arthur says, finding the words come easy. “You rescued me, Merlin. You’ve been the only good thing in my life these past three years. I don’t know if I would have made it without you.” 

Merlin’s eyes are wet.

“You made it because of you, Arthur. You’re my survivor. I am so unbelievably proud of you.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to choke up.

“Let’s say we’re both lucky,” he says softly and Merlin nods in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks so much for reading, really hope you're enjoying it.


	13. Peacetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry about the embarrassingly long delay, I don't even have a good excuse! If you're still out there, I hope you enjoy this final chapter and my sincerest thanks to you for reading.
> 
> This one picks up a bit before the point the last chapter ended at. I was gonna focus on Uther and the trial and all that but then I decided to make it about friendship instead, as I am a sap at heart...

As the end of the Easter holidays approaches, Arthur realises he needs to decide what he’s going to say to his friends come Monday morning. His first few days out of the hospital, he and Merlin have several discussions about what he should tell them, what he feels comfortable with letting them now. Arthur is scared. Telling Merlin had been daunting enough, and there was no-one he loved more. He doesn’t know if he can face all the rest.

Merlin is very understanding, suggesting he take his time to decide, but in the end Arthur’s hand is forced. A local newspaper gets wind of Uther’s arrest and prints a gaudy front page spread entitled ‘Pendragon’s Secret Shame: International Businessman’s Alleged Abuse of Own Son’. Uther is famous enough in the business community that the national papers pick up the story the next day, thus ensuring that anyone who missed the local rag will most likely see it at some point.

Arthur has the first panic attack of his life when he brings the paper delivery inside and sees the cover. One minute he’s standing in the hallway, and the next he’s curled up on the floor, wheezing for breath and completely convinced that he’s having a heart attack and he’s going to die.

Merlin finds him lying there and calls for Hunith frantically, before crouching down next to his boyfriend. He doesn’t know what to do but Hunith instantly recognises what’s going on and starts calmly explaining what’s happening to Arthur. She sends Merlin off for some water, and then gets Arthur to sit up and take deep breaths in and out. He can’t make his lungs work at first and it only terrifies him more, tears begin to leak out of his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath. But eventually Hunith’s soothing voice cuts through the chaos in his mind, and he tries to concentrate on what she’s saying to him. Finally, finally, the air begins to come back to him and his skittering heart rate slows down. 

Merlin comes back and hovers anxiously.

“Is he alright?”

“He had a panic attack,” Hunith says before turning back to Arthur. “And it’s very scary but you’re not dying, I promise.”

Arthur nods, exhausted now that he’s finally beginning to come down from the adrenaline. He leans back against the door, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one hand.

Merlin sits down next to him and Hunith. The three of them sit there like that in the hallway for a while, under Arthur trusts himself to speak.

“The paper,” he says shakily.

Hunith spots it next to her and picks it up; her face falling as she sees the cover. Merlin immediately leans over her shoulder to look. He takes in the headline and his mouth tightens, his eyes narrow. 

Merlin hardly ever gets angry, so the signs are difficult to spot, but he’s clearly angry now.

“They can’t- they can’t do this, can they Mum?”

Hunith shakes her head absently, still looking at the article.

“This is bullshit! They shouldn’t be allowed!”

“I agree,” Hunith says, but she puts a restraining hand on Merlin’s arm, reminding him where their focus should be right now.

Arthur drops his head into his hands. It’s all too much. Everyone’s going to know now; from friends and classmates to complete strangers. The one thing he’d worked so hard to keep hidden all this time. His most painful secret has been shared with the world, in a way he had no control over.

The idea of leaving the house ever again makes him feel sick. 

“Arthur.”

Hunith’s voice is gentle.

“Do you want me to make some breakfast and we can talk about this?”

Mutely, he shakes his head.

“I’m just gonna-” he mumbles, not bothering to finish his sentence before he gets unsteadily to his feet and heads towards Merlin’s bedroom.

Once there he gets under the covers of the bed fully clothed, burying his head under the duvet.

He stays like that for a few minutes, until there’s a knock on the door and Merlin’s voice asking if he can come in.

He wants Merlin to climb in bed with him, and he also wants him to go away. He can’t make up his mind which he wants more so he says nothing and Merlin eventually comes in, Rosco in his arms.

“I don’t wanna crowd you,” he says anxiously. “But I also don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. So I thought if you really don’t want me here, I’d leave you Rosco so at least you had some company.”

The pain in Arthur’s chest lessens slightly. Merlin’s so sweet, so thoughtful. 

“You can stay,” he says, and Merlin sits down in the desk chair.

Arthur stares at the ceiling for several long minutes.

“Everyone’s gonna know, Merlin,” he says at last, and feels humiliation burning through him. “Everyone will be looking at me, thinking they… thinking they know about me.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says softly. “But they won’t know about you. It doesn’t matter what they think.”

“Our friends…” Arthur says miserably.

“Our friends love you. I’m sure they’ll be gutted to hear about it, but they won’t treat you differently Arthur, I promise.”

“They will…”

“What about when Lance’s dad got cancer? What about when Freya’s brother got sent to jail? Did you treat them any differently? Did any of us?”

“No, but-”

“So they won’t do it to you. All they’ll want is to support you.”

Arthur tries to believe it, but panic is still thrumming through him.

“I don’t want to face everyone at school on Monday,” he whispers.

Merlin is silent for a second.

“So don’t. We should get everyone round here, so you can tell them yourself. Today.”

The idea is terrifying but Arthur tries to think about it. Would it be better to get part of it over now? So he could maybe go into school backed up by his friends?

And if any of them didn’t want to be his friend anymore, at least he’d know now.

He nods in acquiescence.

“Okay. I’ll start texting round.”

When Merlin puts his phone away a few minutes later, he looks sad.

“I’m so sorry, baby. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur croaks out, aware he doesn’t sound very convincing.

“None of this is fair,” Merlin says quietly.

His face is composed but Arthur can see his hands unconsciously clenching.

Unfortunately Rosco is still in Merlin’s grip and wastes no time making his objections to being manhandled in this way known. 

“Ow!” Merlin yelps and he drops Rosco on the floor, who promptly sneers at Merlin in a way that only cats can, before stalking out.

“He scratched my finger,” Merlin pouts.

“I think you were trying to squeeze the life out of him,” Arthur points out.

“Oh sure, take his side,” Merlin says, shoving Arthur over so he can climb into bed with him.

“I’m always on your side, I swear,” Arthur says; only half-joking.

Merlin kisses his cheek.

“I’m on yours too. I promise we’ll get through this.”

 

_____________________________________________________________________

 

Gwaine is first to arrive and straight away Arthur can see he doesn’t know the news. Gwaine has no front, no way of hiding his emotions, and the cheery way he greets them testifies to his ignorance.

“Arthur! Where the hell have you been, man? You went AWOL!”

“Yeah, I… sorry about that,” Arthur says.

“Well? What was so important you blew off laser tag last week? And what’s with the arm?”

“Tell you when everyone gets here,” Arthur mutters. His fingers and ribs are no longer taped up, but his arm is still wrapped. The bruises on his face are all but gone, although there’s still a healing cut at the top of his nose from where it was broken. He hopes it’s gone by Monday.

Gwaine opens his mouth to ask another question but Merlin quickly directs his attention to a plate of cookies Hunith made for the occasion, granting Arthur a reprieve.

It’s only a temporary stay of execution however. Gwen and Elyan are next to come, and it’s obvious they know from the moment they step in the house. Elyan’s eyes are filled with concern, his whole body language edgy, as though he’s ready to spring into action to defend Arthur from any possible threat. And Gwen…

Gwen looks devastated. She’s obviously been crying, her eyes are red rimmed and puffy. The second she sees Arthur she reaches out her hands, then retracts them suddenly, as though she thinks Arthur might not want to be touched.

He does want to be touched, so badly. He opens his arms to her and she walks into them. He can feel her shake slightly as she buries her head in his shoulder, and when she pulls back there are tears in her eyes. But she swipes at them immediately, as though she can sense they’re not what’s needed right now, and gives him a lopsided smile.

“We’re just gonna wait for everyone to arrive,” Merlin says softly from behind him and Gwen nods in understanding. Elyan rests his hand on Arthur’s arm briefly, and then takes his sister into the kitchen. 

When everyone’s assembled, bunched up tight in the too-small living room, Arthur sits down in the armchair; Merlin perched on the arm beside him.

“So, um… I wanted to…”

His mouth is very dry and he licks his lips.

“I know I disappeared last week and some of you were a bit worried, and I’m really sorry about that. It’s, um… I was…”

He dries up again, and feels Merlin’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“My dad’s been arrested,” he says at last. “I-I guess some of you might have seen the paper today already.”

Freya and Leon are nodding sadly but Elena, Lance and Gwaine all look totally shocked.

Elena looks like she’s going to say something but Arthur wants to finish speaking now, before he loses his nerve.

“He got arrested because… because…”

He can’t say it. There’s panic rising in his chest. He turns his head to Merlin, who reaches out to take his hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, massaging Arthur’s knuckles. “Take your time.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, in and out. 

“He’s been hitting me,” he says, and his voice cracks but he ploughs on. “For a while. A few… a few years.”

There’s a collective intake of breath but he keeps his eyes on his hand in his lap, intertwined with Merlin’s.

“And when we broke up for the holiday, he… he lost it and he beat me up. Badly. And… after h-he locked me up in a room so I couldn’t tell anyone and he took my phone, but I was meant to meet Morgana and she got suspicious, which is why she messaged some of you, and then she came round and he tried to-to… he put me in the car boot so the police wouldn’t find me but they did and then they arrested him and now I’m staying here.”

Arthur gabbles the end out, not sure if he’s even making sense anymore. He can feel sweat trickling down his back in the silence that greets his statement. 

It abruptly strikes him how insane it all sounds. Getting held captive in your own house, getting shoved into car boots; it’s the stuff of Hollywood movies. How can he ask his friends to process all this? 

He keeps his eyes firmly locked on his lap.

“Fucking hell,” Gwaine eventually says, and it’s not an unusual proclamation from him, but the total lack of mirth in his voice is. 

Arthur risks a quick look upwards. He’s pleased to see that Gwen isn’t crying, but he notices that both Freya and Lance look extremely tearful. Leon is sat very stiffly, his hands gripping the couch. Elena has gone very pale, and beside her Gwaine is clenching and unclenching his fists.

Suddenly he leaps to his feet, the movement making Arthur flinch away, and punches the wall with all his might. 

Merlin gets up straight away and grabs Gwaine by the arm, pulling him from the room and closing the door behind him.

Arthur hunches in his chair, feeling horribly vulnerable now that Merlin’s left the room. For a few seconds it feels like no-one’s going to break the terrible, yawning silence, but then Freya speaks.

“Arthur, we’re so sorry. It sounds like you went through hell.”

Her words are simple and direct, there’s empathy in her voice but no pity. 

“We had no idea,” Elyan says from the other side of the room. “But I think I speak for everyone when I say how glad I am that you’re safe now.”

There are several fervent nods of agreement.

“I don’t think-” Lance starts, then clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t think any of us can say we know what you’re going through, but if there’s anything we can do to help…”

“No,” Arthur says, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Then he changes his mind.

“Yes. Please don’t… treat me differently. Please just be the same way you always are. Otherwise…”

He runs out of words, unable to articulate why it matters so much to him.

There’s a short silence.

“Are you sure you want us exactly the same?” Leon suddenly says. “Because this might be a great time to ask Elena to stop singing out loud to One Direction.”

Arthur starts slightly, then a smile creeps across his face.

“Er, or Leon to stop driving like my ninety year old grandfather!” Elena shoots back, and she does an impression of Leon at the wheel, squinting around like an old man.

“I could live without Elyan’s attempts at magic tricks,” Freya puts in, grinning widely.

“What do you mean, attempts?” Elyan says indignantly. “Arthur, if anyone needs to change, it’s Freya and her creepy obsession with that Benadryl Cucumber guy.”

“It’s Benedict Cumberbatch!” both Gwen and Freya shout at the same time.

“I’m with Elyan,” Leon says. “I’ve heard enough about Benevolent Cummerbund to last a lifetime.”

“Pipe down, Leon,” Gwen says. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be driving to at four miles an hour?” 

Leon throws a cushion at her, but it misses and hits Lance in the face, who swiftly retaliates. Elena swings one in Elyan’s direction but it heads towards Arthur and he catches it with his good arm reflexively, before pitching it at Freya.

By the time Merlin and Gwaine walk back in the room, an all-out cushion fight is in session, with Arthur, Gwen, and Lance hiding behind the armchair whilst the others lob missiles at them.

Merlin promptly gets hit in the face and his look of surprise is so comical that everyone breaks off the game to laugh at him.

“Very funny you heathens, you’ll be the ones putting this room straight before my mum gets home.”

Merlin’s mock indignation only makes them laugh more, but they do set about clearing up the mess. 

In the midst of the tidy up operation, Gwaine makes it to Arthur’s side. Arthur notices his hand is bandaged up.

“I’m sorry about before,” he mumbles. “I just… I was so mad.”

Gwaine looks miserable and Arthur feels a rush of affection that his friend seems to care so much.

He smiles at him.

“Thanks for the support. But don’t be mad anymore. I think I’ve had enough of people being angry to last a lifetime.”

Gwaine nods, then pulls Arthur into a hug. 

“Love you, kiddo,” he says roughly, and then releases him. 

When the room’s sorted, Arthur sits back down on the armchair. Merlin walks over to sit by him, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to pull him down into his lap and give him a lingering kiss.

It’s only when he breaks it off that he becomes acutely aware of the fact that no-one else in the room actually knows about Merlin and him yet. 

Looking into Merlin’s wide eyes, he realises the same thing has occurred to his boyfriend, and they slowly turn to face their friends.

To find a sea of knowing smiles (more of a smirk in Gwaine’s case) and one completely bemused face.

“Since when are you gay, Arthur?” Elena says, bafflement in her tone.

“Since he first laid eyes on Merlin,” Gwaine says instantly and Arthur blushes slightly.

“But I swear you were checking out my arse once,” Elena says guilelessly and everybody groans, while Arthur’s blush deepens.

“Thank God you two finally figured it out,” Gwen says warmly.

“I was all for locking you in a classroom together,” Elyan says. “Or a bathroom, or a cupboard…”

“Yes, well, we got there ourselves,” Merlin says grandly, “…eventually.”

“I don’t know which one of you to give the ‘you hurt him, and I’ll kill you’ speech to,” Leon muses.

“If you hurt each other, we’ll kill you both,” Freya says promptly.

“That’s… nice,” Arthur says weakly, slightly stunned by how well this way going. Not that he expected major protests, but he didn’t foresee such whole hearted support. It’s like they all thought the relationship was inevitable.

Maybe it was, Arthur thinks; and it’s a happy thought.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

As his final year of school goes by, a lot changes. After Morgana finishes her second year at university, she comes home for the summer and Arthur moves back in with her. It takes a while to get used to the old house for both of them. Arthur is haunted by the memories of what had happened there, and occasionally gripped by irrational fears that Uther is about to pop out from around a corner and attack him. He also finds himself physically unable to go into the cellar or the third floor guest room. Meanwhile he can sense Morgana is struggling with being trapped back in the same place she’d tried so hard to get away from. 

It’s difficult, but they manage to adjust. They try to make it so the house feels more like it belongs to them – they move furniture around and Morgana hangs up some of her artwork and Arthur grows more comfortable with leaving his books and clothes around the place, so that the house loses that sterile, uninhabited feel. 

They also try to create new memories in it. Morgana persuades Arthur to invite all of his friends round for a barbecue in August; pointing out that the huge back garden had remained unused for far too long. It’s true; Uther never went out there, and the makeshift goalposts in the corner had been sadly neglected since Arthur stopped hoping against hope his father would join him for a kick about. 

Barring Gwen when they were in primary school, none of his friends have ever been inside his house before. Gwaine lets out a long whistle when they first step inside.

“Fuck me; I think I saw this place on MTV Cribs once.”

He continues to make increasingly outlandish comments until Elena asks him if he was literally born in a barn and that’s why he’s having such an extreme reaction to seeing a nice house. Arthur just thinks it's funny. He’d never imagined any of his friend’s reactions to his (admittedly palatial) house because he’d never envisaged any of them coming round to see it. It’s another first he has to tick off on his list; another perfectly normal thing that he’d missed out on as yet. 

He makes sure his friends have a good time, because he’s very aware the last few months would have been much worse without them. He has a hard time returning to school after the paper prints the story on Uther, but their support helps a lot. Other than the odd comment, no-one really bothers him. Even Val and Kay, who he sees in the corridor on his first day back and abruptly recalls their last encounter with a sudden chill of fear, simply give him a quick nod and hurry on their way. Whether it’s that they don’t want any trouble, or that they saw the paper and feel guilty for picking on him, Arthur doesn’t know. But they never bother him or Merlin again.

There’s another low point when summer’s over and the trial begins to loom. Morgana starts to split her time between living with him four days a week, and spending three at Morgause’s so she can attend her lectures. Arthur hates to be in the house alone when she’s gone so he invariably spends the time over at Merlin’s. Hunith is incredibly tolerant of his constant presence, and just sleeping next to Merlin at night does a lot to calm his nerves.

He needs that support once the trial starts. His lawyer tries to ensure he spends as little time in court as possible, but he still has to testify. He finds the whole experience terrifying and he throws up in the court house toilets more than once. Merlin always comes with him, even if he has to take time off school (the teachers are very understanding about Arthur’s absences) and he sits where Arthur can always see him in the courtroom. 

Arthur never meets Uther’s eyes once, the whole time he’s on the stand. He only has a vague awareness of his father, a sort of shape looming in the corner of his eye. He can’t look properly or he’ll fall apart.

Uther’s lawyer is good, but there’s overwhelming physical evidence, as well as the police officers’ statements about finding Arthur in the boot of the car. Aredian also turns traitor to lessen his own sentence, and testifies that he saw signs of physical abuse on Arthur several times before the final incident. Giving evidence against Uther saves Aredian from jail time – he takes a plea bargain and ends up with a two year suspended sentence. It makes Arthur angry, but the silver lining is that he loses his license to practise medicine; which is a source of some comfort to Arthur, just as Aredian’s public and professional disgrace is.

Morgana and Merlin both accompany Arthur to the court when it’s time for the verdict and sentencing. They hold his hands on either side as the jury finds his father guilty of child cruelty, assault, false imprisonment, and attempted kidnapping. The judge sentences him to seven years in prison, with a recommendation to serve at least five.

Arthur feels… nothing. He takes his first proper look at his father since the day Uther dropped him into that car boot, and all he can think is that the man looks very old. His hair has almost completely greyed, and the hands currently being cuffed in front of him are wrinkled with age. He casts his head down again before Uther can look his way, and he finds he can’t get up and move for a long time after his father has been escorted out.

He’s very low for a while after that. He doesn’t go the school at all the next week, just stays home and lies in his bed. Morgana sits with him a lot, and makes sure he eats at least something every day. When she has to leave, she calls Merlin to come round, and his boyfriend stays in his room with him for three days until he finally feels up to leaving.

It gets a bit better after that, although the panic attacks continue, much to his frustration. He tells his therapist he doesn’t understand why he never had an attack when he lived with Uther and had plenty of reasons to panic, but he’s having them now he’s out of the danger zone.

Andrew says it isn’t uncommon. He suggests that Arthur spent a lot of time running on adrenaline with his father; keeping himself on edge to be prepared for anything. Now that’s it over, his body and mind have more time to process the trauma inflicted on him; and the panic attacks are a sign of that struggle.

Andrew helps him learn some coping strategies; different breathing exercises and mantras that he can try when he feels an attack coming on. It helps that Merlin and all his friends know what to do now when it happens in front of them; but Arthur still finds it humiliating. Andrew asks him to try and be patient, and laughs when Arthur rolls his eyes slightly. 

But it does get easier. School is much improved since he was able to give up Maths, and if he still finds Business Studies boring, he’s buoyed up by the idea that he’s applied to King’s College to do Politics. Merlin’s applies to the same place to do Mathematics and Physics (Gwaine pretends to stab himself when he hears Merlin’s choice of degree), deciding that he prefers art and literature to be for his free time, and not something he studies. 

There’s no question that they’ll go to the same university. Even their backup choices are the same. Sometimes Arthur gets a giddy thrill, thinking of the two of them in London together. He worries on and off he won’t get the required results for Kings, but when the time comes, he does just fine. Morgana screams in delight down the phone when he tells her his results, and Hunith hugs him with tears in her eyes. 

To celebrate results day, Elena suggests they all return to her parents’ house in Cornwall for a few days. 

The day before they leave Hunith has him and Morgana round for a congratulatory dinner. Merlin thinks it’s hilarious that Hunith bothered to formally invite Arthur.

“He practically lives here anyway Mum; chances are he’d have been round without an invite.”

Hunith takes a break from chopping vegetables to gently smack her son’s arm.

“It’s called good manners Merlin, something you are entirely without, you little fiend.”

“Less of the little,” Merlin says, standing up to rest his chin on his mum’s head.

“I knew it was a mistake to let you get so tall,” Hunith says, winking at Arthur. “I shouldn’t have fed you so well.”

Some days Arthur can’t believe Merlin’s even taller than he himself is now; he still remembers that skinny little thirteen-year-old he first saw upside down all those years ago. They’ve both changed so much since then.

He smiles across at Hunith, who’s shrieking with laughter as Merlin wraps her in a hug and lifts her off the floor.

Occasionally there’s a slight ache in his chest when he watches Hunith and Merlin together. He’s never known that kind of parental relationship for himself, and he wishes he had.

But it’s only a slight ache, because the two of them are his family now as well. He feels closer to Merlin than he ever could to flesh and blood. Merlin has a part of his soul. And after everything Hunith’s done for him, he loves her like a mother. This past year she’s opened her home to him, given him her whole hearted support, and he never stops being grateful.

He hopes the feeling runs both ways. Hunith always treated him with the same kindness and love she showed Merlin; and once she had even remarked she felt like Arthur was her second son. To which Merlin promptly replied that that made Arthur and him brothers, which meant they should probably both be under arrest. Then Hunith had raised her eyes to heaven and asked God to deliver her from her overly literal son; and Arthur had shut Merlin up with a very unbrotherly kiss.

When Morgana shows up, Hunith opens a bottle of Cava and they all toast to the boys’ success. Arthur feels quietly happy, being with all of them. That night he and Merlin stay up late talking and giggling, like they’re twelve years old and at a sleepover again. 

They both sleep on the drive down to Cornwall, much to Elyan’s annoyance, and they’re wide awake in time for the barbecue on the beach. Gwaine seems to have brought more alcohol than all of them put together could hope to consume, so they all end up very tipsy. It’s a blessing Lance stays sober enough to build a fire as night falls later on. They sit in a merry circle around it, talking about old memories and new plans.

“This might be one of the last times we’re all together,” Gwen says seriously at one point and everyone shouts protests at her.

“Me and Elyan have been at uni for a year, and we still manage to see you layabouts,” Leon points out. 

“Just as long as we all promise to keep in contact,” Gwen says firmly. “Wherever we end up.”

There’s a cheer of drunken agreement, which somehow turns into calls for a speech.

“A speech from who?” Arthur says and immediately regrets it as all eyes turn on him.

“Arthur!” Freya beams and the rest take up the cry.

“Why me?” he objects.

“Because otherwise Gwaine will do it, and he’ll probably end up stripping or something,” Elena says.

“You wish!” Gwaine calls from across the fire.

Arthur looks at Merlin in an appeal for help but his boyfriend simply gives him a mischievous grin.

“Your public awaits,” he says.

If Arthur wasn’t pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol, he would refuse, but as it is he gathers his liquid courage together.

“Okay,” he says and stands up, then sways a little to the side, to a chorus of ‘waheys’. 

“Erm right. So here we are, in Cornwall, enjoying this fine August evening…”

“Get to the point!” Gwaine interjects.

“I don’t know what the point is!” Arthur protests.

“No heckling!” Gwen says, then turns back to Arthur. “Go on Arthur.”

“Okay, right. So… so we’re all here, and we all made it through A-Levels, or first year uni for those two, and now we’re all heading off in different directions. And we all know it’s easy to lose touch once we’re not living in the same place, but I think that no matter where we go, or what we end up doing, we should remember tonight. All of us here by the fire, having a laugh and being together. That way we’ll know never to lose contact with each other, and we’ll be able to find our way back here. I know I will. Because it’s hard to find mates like you lot, and that’s something to remember.”

There’s a pause and then rowdy applause starts.

“Now strip!” Gwaine yells.

“No chance,” Merlin says. “That sight is reserved strictly for me.”

His friends make exaggerated noises of disappointment and Arthur drops back down to the ground to pull Merlin into a kiss.

 

The two of them end up staying by the fire until it dwindles down to embers, and all their friends have gone back to the house.

“We’re gonna be moving in three weeks,” Merlin says happily, his head resting on Arthur’s shoulder. “Are you ready for the big city?”

“I am,” Arthur says. “These little town blues are melting away, I can feel it already.”

“Dork,” Merlin says fondly. “Hey, can we go see Billy Elliot in the West End?”

“How am I the dork here?”

“Pleeease?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s waste all our money in our first year on theatre tickets and overpriced cocktails.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Merlin snuggles further into Arthur.

“I’m so excited. It’s gonna be so great! I mean, not all the time obviously, because nothing can be great all the time. If it was, you wouldn’t appreciate the good things. You need the sour to have the sweet. Is that a quote from Vanilla Sky? I think it is. I didn’t really like that movie. But I liked the bit at the end on the roof. Or is that not that movie? Am I thinking of that weird one you made me watch with the man with the funny eye? Or-”

“I love you,” Arthur says, and Merlin stops mid-sentence and lifts his head to kiss Arthur.

“I love you too. And I can’t wait to go to London with you. And also to go everywhere with you.”

Arthur smiles, peace flooding through him.

“I would like that,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! Thanks so so much if you've been reading or commenting on this story, I really hope you liked it :) I may do a one shot companion piece to this with all the events from Merlin's perspective, if that sounds like something you might be interested in reading?


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